


The Long Dark

by technoelfie



Series: Through the Looking Glass [2]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Battle of Five Armies Fix-It, Everybody Lives, F/M, Fix-It, Fluff, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-03-29
Packaged: 2018-05-18 08:42:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 34,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5915863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technoelfie/pseuds/technoelfie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the rebuilding of Erebor begins, Thorin and his Company take on the new responsibilities their station demands, leaving you to find a place in the city on your own. Isolated and lacking the skills to make a living in a city of craftsmen, your situation seems hopeless. So while Dwalin and Bofur make unlikely fairy godmothers, you can’t afford to be choosy. And then the king gets involved, changing your life in ways that are as exciting as they are scary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Characters: Thorin, Company, Reader, assorted dwarves.
> 
> Setting: Erebor after BOTFA (fix-it, Durins live AU).
> 
> Warnings: Eventually NSFW. Angst. Fluff. Slow burn of sorts. Excessive cluelessness on the part of the main couple.
> 
> Notes: Thanks a bunch to my lovely beta, @oakenshieldgisborneandwinchester on Tumblr, who made this fit for public consumption. All remaining mistakes are mine.

Winter had come to Erebor, coating the face of the mountain with snow. Beneath the slate grey sky, great patches of ice were scattered with the silver of dead fish. The cold was the kind that went straight through to the bone. Hopping around a little in a hopeless attempt to warm your stiff limbs, you sang a few bars of the duck song, ignoring the looks you got from the dwarves working construction all around you.

One particularly grumpy fellow muttered something like `Cease that infernal caterwauling, woman´. You ignored him. You were on your feet all day preparing tea and sandwiches for the dwarves repairing the outer wall. If you weren't even allowed a bit of off-key singing now and then you'd die of boredom or cold, whichever felled you first — it was a tight race.

You pulled your fur hat deeper over your ears and hefted yet another tray of hot drinks. This round was meant for the dwarves patching up the parapet. You picked your way carefully across the rubble as you distributed the large pitchers of tea. A few dwarves grunted reluctant thanks. The more suspicious ones just nodded, still unsure exactly why the pint-sized human was allowed to live in the hallowed halls of their forefathers.

You couldn't really blame them — you were a bit of a curiosity, just as Bilbo had been. The hobbit-sized human girl who'd joined the king's Company under mysterious circumstances and had helped reclaim Erebor for Durin's folk.

As far as the other dwarves were concerned, non-dwarves didn't belong in Erebor. Your sheer presence was vaguely stifling, like being unable to watch tv in your underwear because your live-in Aunt Muriel could traipse in at any time.

Like Aunt Muriel, you cramped their style. They approved of the hobbit, who had shown the good taste to make his farewells after Erebor was reclaimed. Unlike you, who still haunted the city like an inept little ghost, good for little more than boiling leaves in water and slapping cheese and pickles between two pieces of bread. Not that the food wasn't welcome — it was. It's just that it would have been even more welcome if served by one of any number of young dwarfs apprenticed to the keep… or anybody else, really.

You understood all of that well enough. Unfortunately, there was nowhere else for you to go. Only Gandalf and the company knew you had tumbled from the sky into Thorin's lap.

By a whim of fate, you had been thrust into the quest with no knowledge of fighting or healing. Your encyclopedic knowledge of tropes and internet memes and your uncanny ability to ferret out good delivery services had been useless. Instead of a fearless warrior of legend, the Company had gained a glorified mascot with good hair. After the initial shock, they had taken it in their stride — to your relief, as you had been utterly dependent on them for survival. Even now, you would not be able to survive a week on your own in the wild.

You had tried to pay them back. Like Bilbo, you'd had to rely on your wits and your compassion. Like Bilbo, you had helped in small, gentle ways rather than by fearsome and majestic deeds. Like Bilbo, you'd fallen in love with the group of stubborn mischief-makers. Unlike Bilbo, though, you hadn't been bright enough to say your goodbyes when the Durins had returned from the battlefield — bloody and spent, but victorious.

The moment was still etched into your mind in vivid color: Dwalin, half-carrying a wounded Thorin through the main gate, Fili and Kili stumbling after them as if drunk; Kili, winking at you with a tired grin. The wave of dwarves closing around them like a fist, carrying them away into the depths of the mountain.

You had remained at the gate, relief and a deep, rending sorrow clawing at your insides in equal measure. It was the last time you saw them up close.

Oh, you had tried to see Thorin once. You hadn't even gotten close to the royal wing before you were stopped by a forbidding dwarf wearing Dain's colors.

He'd looked you up and down with a mixture of perplexity and disgust. "State your purpose! Er… Female hobbit?"

"Human," you'd clarified. "I would like to see the king? If- if that's possible, that is." You explained that you had been a member of the Company, hoping that bit of information would grant you passage.

"The king is unavailable." He had emphasised `king´, presumably to illustrate the folly of a mere human attempting to see such an illustrious personage without a royal invitation, in triplicate.

"Oh. Then maybe you can tell him I've been by? When he's feeling better, I mean. Or maybe you could fetch Fili? Or Kili? I'm sure they would—"

"The royal family as a whole is unavailable to…" he wrinkled his nose, "unsanctioned callers."

And that, largely, had been it.

There had been no great feasts to celebrate the retaking of Erebor, no minstrels praising the heroic deeds of the Company while the other dwarves applauded. Perhaps it was just as well, considering your deeds included such gems as `was sick on an orc once', and `nearly gave Smaug indigestion'. Instead, Erebor had slipped into the day to day business of rebuilding while you hung out on the fringes, attempting to give whatever small help you could.

Not that your help was needed, or even welcome. After all, there was no longer a shortage of helpers at Erebor. Instead of a company of fifteen getting lost in the cavernous halls, Erebor now had a proper population of strong, hard-working dwarves eager to make their mark on their new home. The raggedy dwarves making up the Company had received the postings their loyalty demanded, and were busy with their new responsibilities.

The two princes occupied yet another sphere entirely and you'd been painfully made aware that as king, Thorin was so far removed from you as to be unreachable. He was busy, too, working day and night to smooth over relations with the men and elves, organise the rebuilding effort and the delivery of provisions for the winter, and deal with the stream of incoming dwarves from the Ered Luin and other places.

You hadn't tried to seek him out again and he hadn't sent for you, and that was as it should be. Still you could not help being a lovesick fool. Even if he'd probably forgotten your name by now, you wanted to make at least a small contribution to his dream for Erebor. It was why you were spending your days doing menial tasks around the place, why at night you were happy to retreat to a cramped, miserable room at the ass end of the city.

"Make way!"

You jumped, torn from your musings, and narrowly avoided a burly dwarf who swerved past you pushing a loaded cart. Searching for some place out of the way, you walked over to a section of the parapet that was devoid of workers for the moment. A gaping hole marred the geometrical precision of the wall.

Taking a deep breath of the frigid air, you surveyed the snow-bound valley below. There was a caravan in the distance, drawn by the goats brought from the Iron Hills. More supplies, no doubt. Erebor was a bit of a bottomless pit when it came to provisions. Thankfully, its incredible riches ensured that enough merchants braved the dangerous roads for a chance to peddle their wares here and in Dale, thanks to a recent treaty Thorin had signed with Bard.

With a sigh, you noticed that the lacings on your overlarge left boot had come loose again. You knelt down to pull them tight when a dwarf carrying a large boulder stumbled over you and nearly sailed through the hole in the parapet. It was by mere chance that you managed to grab hold of his ankle and hold on for the precious second it took another dwarf to reach out and drag the both of you back from the brink.

The tirade that followed fairly blistered your ears. You slunk away, avoiding the accusing stares as best as you could.

After that you no longer had a taste for helping at the walls and if they missed the tea and sandwiches, they didn't miss them enough to call you back.

 

* * *

 

The next day, you went to the armory. Dwarves loved their weapons, and there were lots of them to be sorted, cleaned, polished and oiled. It was tedious work and able-bodied dwarfs were needed elsewhere, so the quartermaster — Bifur, as you found to your delight — welcomed you with open arms. As usual, you didn't understand a word he said, but you got the gist of it all the same.

You set to work dilligently, polishing and sharpening an endless array of axes, short swords, broadswords, pikes and daggers alongside a number of other dwarves whose injuries did not allow them to partake in more demanding work.

It was dreadful, soul-deadeningly dull work. After a week of polishing and sharpening axes, the merest glint of light on metal made you want to run away screaming. You couldn't, of course. Instead, you started daydreaming. Every axe you held was Thorin's, every sword turned into Orcrist.

You pictured Thorin standing behind you, watching through hooded eyes as you ran the cloth along the tainted metal, painstakingly restoring its shine. In your mind's eye, he bent down to speak husky words of praise in your ear whenever you turned out a particularly shiny blade. Hot breath brushed your cheek. His words, spoken in that panty-melting baritone, vibrated through you, turning your insides into jelly. If you concentrated really hard you could feel the kisses peppered down your neck, hear more heated promises whispered against your skin.

It was during one such daydream that you nearly impaled a dwarf who ventured a little too close, startling you terribly. It turned out to be a flesh wound, but the sight of blood shocked you so badly that you cut into your own leg in reaction.

While nobody cast any overt blame, when you offered to leave they weren't sad to see you go either.

 

* * *

                


 

You should have learned your lesson after the armory. And yet you couldn't bear to do nothing while everyone else worked hard to restore Erebor to its former glory. When you found out that the kitchens always needed helpers, you went looking. Bombur welcomed you with his customary good cheer, probably because he'd had no time to talk to Bifur. He even expressed a wish to talk about old times over a pitcher of ale, but you realised soon that was wishful thinking. 

The kitchens were _swamped_.

With the Durins working hard to restore diplomatic and trade relations, highly placed guests were welcomed at Erebor every other day. All the feasting meant that your new workplace was a hub of hectic activity and there was no time at all to rest, or think, or sleep more than three hours at night.

Still, despite the pressure and hard work, you were happy to feel needed again. Things were going swimmingly until you scalded your arm with boiling water and nearly disfigured the dwarf who'd bumped into you in the process. Technically it hadn't been your fault this time, and the dwarf apologized profusely, but the shame you felt hurt worse than the burn.

Besides, word about you had apparently gotten around. The glances you received from the kitchen staff the following day weren't friendly. After a miserable day during which everybody made sure to give you a wide berth lest you maimed them in some way, you made your excuses to a distracted Bombur and moved on.

 

* * *

 

You really should have known better than to even enter the treasury. You knew that gold lust was a thing. Around gold still infused with the remnants of Smaug's covetous malice, it turned into a very real danger.

The treasury was vast, and filled with piles of riches. Precious metalwork and gems of every description were stacked haphazardly everywhere in its cavernous main hall. Despite the dangers, they had to be sorted and catalogued, then stored away neatly in smaller chambers.

Because of the residual dragon magic, the process was slow-going. The dwarves working there alternated between short-tempered and zoned out. They also tried to sneak out particularly fine gems in their smallclothes, so they had to be strip-searched whenever they left the main hall.

It was a well-known problem and Nori, now treasurer, had them on strict, short rotations with long breaks in between. Despite the precautions, there was always the risk of someone having a breakdown. Nori would never have let you work there, so you waited until he was away and petitioned his substitute instead. You could still recall the happy look on the dwarf's face as you explained that you were not affected by gold lust and could work multiple shifts back-to-back for a very reasonable wage.

You were on your second week with no incident, stacking tableware and examining the work on a particularly fine gem-encrusted goblet when an angry bellow tore you out of your musings.

"Hey, you! Put that down!"

Looking blearily around, you saw a young dwarf advancing on you with a crazy gleam in his eyes. Uh-oh. That one must be near the end of his shift. You took a step back.

"Put it down, I said!" screeched the dwarf.

You lowered the goblet onto the pile of crockery at your feet. Out of the corner of your eye you could see the other dwarves watching warily. Nobody moved to help. In this hall it was every dwarf for himself.

The dwarf gestured with a short axe, spittle flying. "Now step away!"

Yep. Definitely at the end of his shift.

You would have liked nothing better than to run away, but that was easier said than done. You were perched quite precariously on a veritable mountain of assorted treasure, and if you moved too quickly you might start an avalanche and either get buried or break something — probably your neck.

The dwarf brandished the axe, a lot closer now. "Filthy thief!" he cried.

You took another step back; beneath your heel something gave way. Objects shifted with a clink of metal, the coins beneath you sliding and dancing, and then the support beneath your feet was just gone.

You didn't even have time to scream as you fell. Your back slapped the stream of gold, driving the breath from your body and then your were sliding down the incline in a shower of coins, picking up speed.

Above you, the dwarf jumped onto a giant platter and gave chase, yelling obscenities. You yelped as more coins hit you from above. A heavy trencher narrowly missed your head and tumbled on with a loud clang. Angry bellows from the surrounding dwarves mingled with the screech of metal in a cacophony of sound.

Riding his platter on the edge like a snowboard, the axe-wielding dwarf bent his knees and jumped. He flew through the air and hit the slope right next to you, axe raised for the strike.

You whimpered and cringed.

A strong hand grabbed you by the scruff of your neck and swerved you out of the path of the descending blade. You found yourself clutched tightly to a broad chest, riding the accelerating wave at sickening speed atop a golden shield.

The shield hit the bottom of the slope and for an instant you thought you'd fall. But your rescuer shifted his weight back and slightly sideways as the stream of gold beneath you gave way to the stone floor. With a piercing shriek of tortured metal the shield careened on, spinning in a shower of sparks.

It slowed to a halt a bit farther on. You barely had time to clear the wobbly platform before the mad dwarf rushed you again with an incoherent battle cry. Your rescuer twisted you out of the way and slammed the pommel of his dagger into the dwarf's forehead, knocking him out with a single blow. Then he kicked him once to make sure he stayed down, giving you the a first glimpse of a familiar profile.

"Foolish bugger," he spat, disgusted.

The whole thing had taken a few seconds at most. You took a small step forward and nearly fell flat on your face when the ground lurched beneath you.

He caught your arm in a hard grip, steadying you.

"Kili?" you stammered.

The youngest Durin was barely recognizable in his finery with his hair properly brushed and braided. The scruffy, mischievous youth you once knew was nowhere to be seen.

He pinned you with a look. "Y/N, what are you _doing_ here? It's dangerous!"

You inhaled a quivering breath. "So's the kitchen," you quipped dizzily. "And the wall, and the armoury, and just about everywhere else."

"This is no time for jests, Y/N!" Kili admonished, sounding so much like Thorin you did a double take.

He turned to the assembled dwarves who were hovering nearby. "You there, bring this daft bugger to Óin. The rest of you lot, shift change. _Now_. And not a word about this to anyone or I'll have your heads. Go!"

Whirling back to you, he pointed an accusing finger at your face. "You, with me."

You fell into step beside him. The guards at the entrance let you pass without a search. You stopped to collect your battered leather bag and then you followed Kili obediently out.

The two of you navigated the maze of corridors in silence. Only a few months back, you would have talked a mile a minute, exchanging jokes and absurd insults. But this Kili was a grim-faced stranger, and you didn't know what to say.

So absorbed were you in your thoughts that when he finally addressed you, you stumbled in surprise. He caught you again, releasing you once you had regained your balance — another change. Only a few months ago he'd touched you easily, affectionately.

"I don't want you to return to the armory," he said.

"B-but—"

"I'm serious, Y/N. It's dangerous. I don't know what Nori was thinking to let you in there alone with the lads. He knows how they get. We haven't had any casualties yet, but that's only because dwarves have hard heads. You don't have that protection."

You weren't going to tell him that Nori had not approved anything. "Are you saying I'm softheaded?"

"I'm saying you're vulnerable!" he yelled.

You cringed as it suddenly dawned on you that he was furious. The Kili you knew had been so easy-going most of the time that it was easy to forget he was a Durin, hiding a volcano of emotions beneath that insouciant facade.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'm sorry," he said.

"No, I am. And I didn't say thank you before, so… thank you. That was a spectacular rescue."

His lips twisted with the ghost of a smile. "Happy to be of service."

"Today was an anomaly, though," you said, "I've worked there two weeks and it's never been like this. It was just the one time."

"Then you were lucky. And one time is all it takes."

You turned a corner and suddenly found yourself on a main thoroughfare. A blur of color, light and noise assaulted your senses. You came to a dead stop.

Walkways arched across empty air like a network of tightropes, connected by broad stairways. Dwarves were everywhere, crowding onto the main thoroughfares like busy ants. Belatedly, it sunk in that you could have died today and none of the dwarves streaming past you would have known or cared. Your hands started to shake. Soon your whole body vibrated with a fine tremor.

Wordlessly, Kili took off his overcoat and draped it around your shoulders.

"You should go see Óin too," he said, frowning down at you with concern.

"Don't be silly," you said, because it was better than releasing the sob stuck in your throat. The rising pressure in your chest galvanized you into action. "Ah, thanks for the rescue. Very dashing entrance! Just like old times. Excuse me!"

You pushed past him and fled. At first Kili was too surprised to stop you, and the crowd that swallowed you like a great beast stopped him from following.

"Y/N!" he called out. "Y/N!"

You didn't stop running.

 

* * *

 

You didn't know where you were going, just that you had to get out. You ignored the disapproving looks you got as you cleared the last bridge with a jump. You didn't notice dwarves huddling and gesturing behind you, didn't see the runner being dispatched as you ran up a winding staircase to a wide set of hexagonal doors. You pushed against them with all your might and suddenly you were free.

You found yourself standing on one of Erebor's terraces, icy wind whipping your face. You clutched Kili's coat closer around you and let the cold clear your head.

Clarity, when it came, was sobering. You couldn't bear to live a life of leisure at the dwarves' expense. You needed a purpose, something to do, and there was nothing left. You wished you could talk to somebody, anybody, but there was no one who would understand. Every member of the Company had found their place in this city. You were a relic of their unhappy past, a burden and an embarrassment.

People drifted apart when their circumstances changed. It was only natural, and most times it wasn't personal at all. But you couldn't help feel that your worth was determined by the people around you, and now there was no one left to truly see you or care.

You sank down onto a stone bench, uncaring of the freezing cold seeping through your trousers, and cried.

You didn't know how long you cried. It felt like your limbs had fused with the stone, and still you couldn't bring yourself to care. You knew you should get up. It would be the most mortifying thing of all to freeze to death because of a bout of self-pity.

The doors were only a few feet away. You could see them well enough. And yet you just couldn't manage to rise to your feet and take those few steps into the relative warmth of the city. The city that didn't want you. A fresh wave of sobs shook you, doubling you over.

Loud, clanking steps that you'd come to associate with the city guard announced that you were no longer alone.

"Hey, you!"

You raised your tear-streaked face to see Dwalin.Even through the blur of tears, you could see the exact moment he recognized you. The stern expression slid off his face, replaced by the most vivid urge to flee. He stared at you for along while, his expression torn between his usual stoic mask and utter horror.

It would have been quite comical in other circumstances. His throat worked. His fists clenched and unclenched. He raised a finger as if preparing to say something, then apparently thought better of it and closed his mouth.

This agony of uncertainty lasted a full minute, after which he seemed to come to a decision.

He nodded briskly at you. "Y/N." Then he turned on his heel and walked away.

You stared at the spot where he'd been for a long moment, then a wail broke out of your throat.

Dwalin could not have been gone more than a few minutes when another voice tore through your misery.

"Well, hello there, pretty lady!"

"Get lost," you mumbled, not looking up.

Your visitor tsked. "Now, is that any way to speak to a devoted swain, dear lady?"

 _Bofur_. You raised your head to glower at him and he shrank back. You must have achieved a puffy cry-face of epic proportions to elicit that reaction. _Yikes_.

"What?!" you demanded belligerently.

"Sniffed too many onions, my lady?" he offered with a grin.

You shrugged.

Bofur shook out a thick blanket and tucked it around you with a cluck of disapproval. Then, to your utter astonishment, he lifted off his hat and placed it on your head, tugging the flaps down over your ears.

_Warm. So warm. A little smelly._

"Scoot over. How a tiny thing like you can take up a whole bench, I'll never know."

You shifted a little to the side _,_ still staring fixedly straight ahead. _What just happened?_

Bofur sat down next to you and made himself comfortable. A stray sob hiccuped out of your throat.

"So…" Bofur said. "Long time no see."

"Mhm."

"A pity," he continued conversationally.

If he was expecting you to hold an actual conversation right now, he was an idiot.

"We all miss you, you know," he continued when you remained stubbornly silent. "Except you vanished and you never visit. Why is that, exactly?"

What did he mean, vanished? "Everybody's busy," you muttered.

"Not all the time," he said gently. "And not too busy to see friends."

"Yeah, well, I'm pretty sure Thorin's busy all the time."

"Well, he _is_ the king," Bofur said. You could hear a smile in his voice. "But you should pay him a visit regardless. He might surprise you."

You pictured going to see Thorin and actually getting through, only for him to barely glance at you before he turned back to his important work. You knew it was a likely scenario, but it would kill something in you to have it actually happen.

"I'd rather not risk it," you said because going off on a tangent about dashed hopes and broken hearts might be a little too much even for Bofur.

Bofur sighed. "Suit yourself. Why were you cryin', if I may inquire?"

"Onions," you said curtly.

"Nah. I have it on good authority that your stint in the kitchens is over. Bombur's still puzzled about that, by the by. You might want to talk to him, because he's convinced he did something wrong and chased you away."

"He didn't!"

"Tell him that, not me. So. What's wrong? You know you can tell uncle Bofur everythin'."

"I'm not _five_ ," you protested, turning to glare at him.

 _Oops_. You'd forgotten you wanted to avoid looking at his hair, given how particular Bofur was about never taking off his hat. You half expected some horrific injury to be revealed, but it was just hair — dark, partly braided, with a messy fringe across the forehead that reminded you of Kili.

"You're not a child, but it's plain as day you're hurtin'," he said. "Come on, darlin'. You'll feel better, I promise."

The kind, knowing smile he gave you shattered the remnants of your brittle composure.

"Nobody wants me around!" you wailed.

"Now, lass, you know that's not true."

"Yes it is!" You took a deep breath, and then the words just burst out of you, tripping all over themselves. He listened attentively, nodding in all the right places, patting your back in others. He offered no opinions, just let you get it all out. It felt like poison leaving your body.

Afterwards, you were so exhausted you drooped. Bofur still sat there, offering no advice, just silent support and companionship, and you'd missed that so much it made you want to cry again.

"It seems to me," he said eventually, "that maybe you did a little too much thinkin' in circles and not enough sharin'. I'm not sayin' you had no reason to feel ignored. But you are quite human — delightfully so, I might add — and perhaps you do not understand dwarves quite as well as you think, hmm?"

You shook your aching head. Hope hurt worse than anything, and you were spent.

"Look, perhaps our traditional occupations are not for you. But you hail from another world, Y/N. Do you understand what a wondrous thing that is? Who knows what marvels you can teach us — about machinery, about life, about beautiful new ways of thought. The sky's the limit!"

"I'm not an engineer or anything," you protested, but some of the pressure in your chest had eased.

Bofur sighed again. "I'm makin' a muddle of this, sure enough. Y/N, my advice is to go to bed tonight and leave the heavy thinking for the morrow, yes? I swear I meant to search you out, but with one thing or another — at any rate, I won't forget again."

Rising, he offered you his arm. You took it as if in a dream and let him lead you back inside the city.


	2. Chapter 2

The next day you felt a little better. You wandered Erebor again, observing the pattern of its breathing, pulsing life. It was becoming a well oiled machine, and yet you still wondered where you might fit in. But if there was no place for you in the fabric of old patterns and routines, maybe you could carve out something new that was just yours.

Bofur was right. You could start writing down all you could remember about indoor plumbing, for one. The common privies were only one step removed from a hole in the ground, and water still had to be collected at a number of interior wells. If you could do anything about that, it would be a much more valuable service than polishing a stupid sword. Then, there was the food. Erebor had ample food stores, but no way to grow anything, which struck you as singularly unwise given the still strained relationship with its neighbors. Perhaps you could think of something…

Already you felt lighter. Except for the fact that you didn't remember very much about cultivating veggies or how indoor plumbing actually worked, you were set. Bouncing happily, you procured some parchment, a quill, ink and a wide candle from a puzzled dwarf, then retreated to your room to sketch.

Hours later, a decisive knock at your door made you look up from your work. You winced as the cramped muscles in your neck protested the sudden motion.

The knocking came again, louder now. If it was possible for a knock to sound impatient, this one did.

You looked around you at your pitiful accommodations, then down at your too-large dress. Dwarrowdams were built a lot sturdier than you, and you hadn't been able to find clothes that fit you in the whole of Erebor. As you didn't have enough money left to have something made, you only had two sets of clothes — one that fit and had seen you through most of the quest, and one that you had procured here. At the moment you wore the latter, a dress which hung around your frame like a potato sack. You only put it on when you didn't plan on going out. Well. Whoever wanted to visit would have to bear it.

"Enter," you called.

The door swung open to reveal a scowling Thorin.

You jumped up. Your stool toppled to the ground with a clatter. Your heart seized that moment to give a vicious lurch and started fluttering like a crazed thing.

"H-hello," you said weakly.

It was _Thorin_ … In the flesh.

You searched his face hungrily as he took you in in turn — the dark blue dress held together at your waist with a badly knotted rope belt, the quill clutched in your ink-stained fingers, the ink smears on your forehead.

"You don't _appear_ to be wasting away," he said when he'd finished his inspection. He sounded puzzled and strangely relieved at the same time.

_W-huh_?

While you pondered that mysterious statement he took the opportunity to glance around your cramped quarters, his expression darkening as he took in the makeshift cot on the floor, your meagre belongings haphazardly stacked beside it; the roll of rags that you used as a pillow.

"That's because I'm not," you said hastily, hoping to placate him. "Wasting away, I mean." You weren't sure why he suddenly looked so angry, or why he thought you would be wasting away in the first place… Oh, of course. _Bofur, you rat!_

Meanwhile, Thorin had entered the room and begun pacing, or rather taking one energetic step in one direction, stopping when he encountered a wall or some other obstacle, glaring at the offending barrier, then turning around to repeat the same action in a different direction. The effect would have been quite comical if not for the air of outrage trailing him like a dark cloud.

"Did Bofur say something to you?" you demanded.

Thorin, who was sniffing delicately at a damp wall, took a moment to respond. "Bofur," he repeated unhelpfully.

"Yes, Bofur. About me being consumptive," you clarified.

He paused in the action of fingering a rag you'd pinned to the wall above your bed to ward off the worst of the draft.

"No. That was Dwalin."

While you tried to digest that unexpected bit of news, Thorin took another turn about the room.

"This is unacceptable," he said tightly, pinning you with a furious glare.

Your stomach dropped. You took an instinctive step back before you realized what you were doing. He was not only angry, he was seething and it was all directed at you. Maybe he'd been told about your bungled attempts at help and had come to throw you out of Erebor? Bofur's comforting arguments suddenly paled in the face of Thorin's fury.

Your shoulders slumped. That must be it, you thought. He couldn't have a human injuring his subjects left and right, if only by accident. On the other hand, you really hadn't done it on purpose! And he couldn't expect you to leave in the middle of winter, could he? Your time with the company should count for something.

"Y/N."

You jumped, torn from your dismal thoughts. Thorin's irritated tone indicated that this was not the first time he'd called your name. You wrung your hands, trying to think of a dignified way to present your case.

"I thought…" you began. "That is, I wanted— Oh, I don't really have anywhere else to _go_ ," you nearly wailed, "I mean, I should have probably gone with Bilbo, but I couldn't bear leaving and I thought it was okay to stay even though you never actually _said_ as much, come to think of it—"

You closed your mouth with a snap when Thorin held up a hand.

"What," he growled, "are you talking about?"

His voice went impossibly deeper when he was as angry as he was now. Normally, that deep, sexy register would fuel a week's worth of daydreams, but now it merely heightened your anxiety.

"Just that I thought it was at least, er, _implied_ , that I could stay here. I guess, I should have probably asked, but I didn't really see you much after the battle…"

"I was busy with state business," Thorin interrupted.

"Of course you were," you attempted to placate him, "and no wonder, with Dain and Bard and Thranduil running all over the place, demanding reparations and whatnot."

"But that is no excuse," he continued as if you hadn't spoken. His jaw clenched. "This is a travesty."

"Oh." You tried really hard not to cry, but you could feel your bottom lip tremble. And then, because you were clearly a masochist: "W-what is?"

" _This broom closet!_ " Thorin exploded. "This… this collection of rags and other's discarded garbage, as if you were a beggar rather than a member of my Company!"

You gaped at him, suddenly lightheaded. Thorin's arm sliced through the air, encompassing the whole of your accommodations in one sparse, angry gesture.

"I could circle Middle Earth in the time it took me to find this wretched box!" he snarled, on a roll now. Your legs nearly gave way, weak with relief.

"Well, to be fair, you do tend to get lost occasionally," you pointed out with a tremulous smile.

"And the draft!" he barked, ignoring that. "No wonder you've taken ill."

Now that he mentioned it, you realized that the draft was indeed quite strong, mostly because Thorin had left the door open.

"But I'm not ill," you soothed. If you'd been the type to get sick so easily, you'd have contracted some kind of lung disease on your second day in Erebor.

Thorin ignored that minor detail as well. He took hold of your shoulders instead. "Who is responsible for this?"

You would have really liked to answer him, but his hands were large and warm and you could concentrate on nothing else. Only now did you notice how cold you had been, as his heat penetrated the rough fabric of your dress to spread across your chilled skin.

"For what?" you finally managed. His eyes were so very blue.

His voice when he finally spoke was marginally softer. "For assigning you this hovel."

"Oh, nobody. I picked it out myself."

The softness left as quickly as it came. "Explain."

"Well, I thought the main levels should be reserved for the people who actually work there, and for the people coming back to the mountain. Besides, the quarters there seemed a little large for just one person, you know. I didn't want people to think I'm greedy."

"You didn't want to—" Stopping with a shake of his head, Thorin inhaled deeply and removed his hands from your shoulders. One overlarge sleeve glided down your arm in the wake of his retreating fingers, baring one shoulder and a great deal of your chest in the process.

Thorin's gaze flickered to the exposed skin as if drawn by a magnet and came to rest there. The contours of his face were limned in red-gold light, the shadows soft, and you knew the same light must outline the curve of your neck and shoulder. You inhaled a shuddering breath.

Thorin swallowed and abruptly looked away. "Y/N, the quarters on the main floors are spacious because they are meant for people rather than cleaning supplies. Had you looked one over properly, you might have noticed the fireplace, the lack of a draft, and the fact that they are actually furnished. You could claim several of them at once and none of my people would bat an eyelash. Your loyalty and service have earned you that, and a great deal more besides. It grieves me that you did not know that."

"… Oh." You were too stunned by his words to disagree, even though your experiences with the average dwarves of Erebor painted a very different picture.

"It was an oversight on my part," Thorin continued. "One I plan to rectify."

"This really is a broom closet?" In the state that you were in, that was the only part of his little speech that actually computed.

He smirked at you. "Yes."

"Oh. I see."

"Please collect your things. You will not spend one more minute in this wretched box."

Collecting your sketches from the desk, you stuffed them along with your other things into your battered leather bag and stood there undecided, looking down at the bedding. You didn't have the money for a new set but it would be cumbersome to carry.

"Leave it," Thorin said. He took the bag from you, shouldering it easily. "Come."

Well, you could always come back for it when he wasn't looking. After a last glance around you snuffed the candle, plunging the room into darkness, and picked up the smoking stump. Waste not, want not.

Thorin took your arm, none too gently. You heard him mutter something uncomplimentary in Khuzdûl as he escorted you out.

                                                                                                     


* * *

 

You walked together in silence. Your place really was quite a long way away from the main thoroughfares. The last few days you'd been too tired to notice your isolation, but the farther you came toward the entrance of the mountain, the more your surroundings filled with light and warmth and life.

You slid a sideways glance at Thorin, covertly delighting in his nearness. Less than a half hour in his presence and you could feel yourself come alive. Your skin tingled; your stomach filled with butterflies. Gravity appeared to fail without rhyme or reason. You would walk normally one moment and then you would be suddenly floating, only to stumble back to the ground the next instant. It was not necessarily pleasant, but it was miles better than the numbness that had encased you until you didn't even notice it anymore.

Whatever happened, you would not give up, you decided. You would carve a place for yourself here. You would find a way to show your value to the dwarves in the city. Already your casual appearance at the king's side would be doing wonders for your reputation.

Everybody you encountered bowed their heads respectfully as their king passed. You rated quite a few nods as well by virtue of association and you found yourself wishing you'd thought to change your clothes before leaving. You had never been more conscious of the ragged state of your attire, especially in contrast to Thorin's impeccably tailored silks and leathers. Embarrassed, you ducked your head and tried to hide your ink-stained hands in the folds of your dress.

Without breaking stride, Thorin reached over and gripped your hand firmly in his. Your glanced up at him, startled. He simply marched on, pulling you along behind him. Hushed whispers rose in your wake like the trailing wave of a great ship.

After that, the rest of the way was a bit of a blur. You could barely believe your eyes as he finally came to a halt in the royal wing. You'd never been, but you assumed it was the royal wing by the way the walls were coated with gold. Dwarves didn't do subtlety very well.

The door Thorin opened was studded with semi-precious gems and carved within an inch of its life. The chamber behind it was a jaw-dropping vision of comfort. Rich, thick rugs in jewelled colors, wall coverings in muted earth tones, and the largest, sturdiest four-poster bed you had ever seen in the very centre of the room, rising majestically from a raised dais.

You stared at the pristine bedding uncomprehendingly. You could smell _starch_ , and fresh linen, and herbs! The richly embroidered coverlet in shades of blue and peacock green, threaded with gold, barely peeked out from beneath a mound of tan and cream furs. There were _pillows_ … So many fluffy, downy pillows!

You stared dreamily as you waited for Thorin to walk past you and get whatever he needed from his quarters before you could move on. As nothing happened, it slowly dawned on you that there might be another reason why he had brought you here. You looked at him only to find him watching you with a soft smile. You turned back, confused to find the chamber had not vanished as mirages were supposed to do, then looked back at Thorin.

Correctly interpreting your confusion, Thorin gestured at the space. "Your room, Y/N."

You pressed a fist to your mouth. " _Thorin_ ," you choked out.

"Go in," he encouraged. "Go on."

"But you can't just give me something like this!" you protested, almost desperately.

"I _am_ the king," Thorin said mildly.

While you understood that you should protest more, you couldn't bring yourself to refuse this dream of a room. With a whisper of thanks you took several halting steps forward, marvelling at the rich golden light that suffused everything. Only as your boots sank into the carpet did you notice that you were likely dragging dirt across the pristine floor. You took them off, hopping on one leg, and advanced to the bed. You were barely aware of Thorin's amused gaze as you clambered onto the dais and sat down.

The mattress had a slight, springy give. You bounced a little, testing it. The mattress amplified your movement, nearly propelling you nose-first towards the floor as you grew too enthusiastic. You grabbed the nearest bed post for support with a shriek of surprised laughter and turned to Thorin.

"It's bouncy!" you exclaimed.

Thorin grinned back. "I saw."

"How?" According to your experience, the standard mattress in Middle Earth was a heap of straw with some fabric thrown on top.

"Springs," he said. He leaned against the door frame, looking as relaxed as you had ever seen him.

You bounced a little more just because you could. Then you realized Thorin hadn't entered the room.

"Don't you want to come in?"

Thorin grimaced. "I'm afraid other obligations await me—"

Whatever he might have said next was lost as a dark head peered around his shoulder, grinning widely. Kili.

"Hey, Y/N! New quarters? I wondered where you'd got to!"

Thorin smacked the back of his nephew's head. "You should have done more than wonder," he grunted.

"Huh. Why?"

Thorin told him.

Kili stared at you with an incredulous grimace. "Really, Y/N?"

You shrugged, embarrassed.

"Whatever possessed you to do something so stupid?" he wondered.

"Hey!"

"Though it's less stupid than the incident in the treasury…" he conceded, as if that was supposed to make anything better.

"What incident in the treasury," Thorin demanded.

"Who is being stupid?" inquired Fili from the hallway at the same time. "Except for the usual suspects, I mean. Can you believe that Hagar has managed to get the north tunnel flooded _again_? I really wonder what they teach them in the Iron Mountains, honestly. Oh, hello Y/N! New place?"

His eyes widened as Kili filled him in in a hushed whisper. "Y/N," he admonished. " _Really_?"

You flopped back onto the bed, exasperated.

"I didn't want to take up more than my share, okay?" you told the ceiling. "I didn't want to presume I was _owed_ anything."

"Yes, but a _broom closet_? And what in Mahal's name are you wearing?"

You sat up again. "I didn't _know_ it was a broom closet!"

"I can't see how you wouldn't have known, Y/N. They're usually cold, narrow, and contain brooms."

"It was just the one broom when I found it! And some rags. And a pail of—" You snapped your mouth shut.

"What's this about a broom closet?" boomed another familiar voice from the hallway.

You closed your eyes with a groan.

Dwalin pushed his way past the Durins and looked quizzically around the room.

"Y/N," he grunted. "Thorin. Whelps." This last was directed at the princes, who gave him a rude gesture in return, executed with perfect synchronicity. Dwalin grinned into his beard. "Broom closet…" he repeated when nobody seemed inclined to fill him in.

Fili gestured at him to bend down, then whispered something in his ear. Filthy lies and exaggerations, no doubt.

You smacked your forehead gently against the bed post. Once. Twice.

"Now that's just daft," Dwalin said after Fili had finished, pinning you with a reproachful gaze.

"Not you too," you mumbled.

"Do ye think so little of our honor, Y/N, that you'd ask so much less than yer share?"

"Oh no," you protested, jumping hastily off the bed. "No, no, no, no, _no_. No bringing honor into it, okay? Honor has nothing to do with this."

That was not a discussion you were prepared to have with any dwarf. You'd only lose.

"Why did ye not come to us for a place to live?" he demanded. When he surveyed your clothes with distaste, you realised that sleeve had slid down your shoulder again. You jerked it back into place. "And even I woulda have found ye somethin' nicer tae wear, too."

"That's not exactly a hardship," Fili interceded. "A blind bat would find something better than that sack. Sorry, Y/N."

_Everyone's a critic_ , you thought sourly. You scowled at Dwalin. "Look, it's not my fault I'm built like a twig compared to the average dwarrowdam, okay? There are no clothes my size in Erebor. None. Believe me, I looked."

"I wouldn't say twig," Kili said, eyeing you doubtfully. "You're kind of delicate, but those are nicely rounded hips, wouldn't you say, Kee? And that chest, well—"

Dwalin and Thorin smacked the back of his head in unison.

"Ow! What was that for?"

You shook your head, exasperated. And maybe the tiniest bit flattered.

"That one might be an idiot but he's not wrong," said Dwalin with a shrug.

Had Dwalin of all people just complimented your figure? You were officially down the rabbit hole now and accelerating.

Kili was gesticulating at Thorin, who had him by the lapels. "She's like a sister to me! A _sister_ , for heaven's sake!"

"Y/N, ye haven't answered me yet," said Dwalin.

You tore your gaze from Thorin with an effort. "Answered what?"

"My _question_ , Y/N."

Okay, you had definitely lost the thread of the conversation there. You pinched the bridge of your nose. "Sorry. Could you repeat it?"

"I asked why ye did not come to us for a place to live," Dwalin repeated patiently.

Thorin, let go of his nephew. "Oh yes, Y/N. I would very much like to know as well."

Kili patted his tunic back into place with the air of a disgruntled sparrow smoothing its feathers.

You gaped at Thorin and Dwalin. What was this, therapy hour? These were the guys who could spend whole days exchanging no more than grunts as a means of communication, and they wanted you to explain your _motivations_. They even looked like they were prepared to _listen_.

You shuddered. "Are you kidding?"

They all frowned at you.

"First you doubt our honor, and now our intentions. I don't mind telling ye, Y/N, I'm growing a mite peeved."

You stared at Dwalin for a moment longer, then threw up your hands in defeat. "Oookay then, you're not kidding. I can see that. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. It's just… This is hard for me to say."

"You're among friends, Y/N," said Fili easily. His lips curled in a small, crooked smile, inviting you to share.

Ooh, you were defenseless in the face of those dimples. You looked down at your feet as you tried to gather your thoughts. And your courage. Ah, what the heck.

"It's not like I didn't want to ask," you confided in a rush. "I really did. But you were all so _busy_ , and there were so many people around all of a sudden. I'd have had to scale a wall of dwarves to even see one of you up close, never mind talk to you. I— I didn't want to bother anyone, or… or intrude on important business."

You looked up to see Kili shake his head at you like a mother despairing of a recalcitrant child. Fee's smile had morphed into a moue of disappointment. Dwalin looked a bit murderous. And Thorin… Thorin was utterly unreadable.

"You didn't want to bother anyone," he repeated evenly. 

"The lass has odd notions about that," yelled Bofur from the hallway. "I meant to tell you," he told Thorin. "After the conclave. Before you stormed out like there were wargs at yer heels when Dwalin told you about her. Balin's a bit sore about it, to tell the truth. He had to smooth quite a few ruffled feathers."

"That's Balin's duty," Thorin told Bofur coolly. "And privilege."

_Buuurn_. Okay, Thorin had clearly arrived as king. But wait. What was that about Thorin storming out? And how had he found out where you lived? You sidled a bit closer to your visitors.

Meanwhile, Dwalin had other fish to fry. "You can't intrude on yer friends," he explained to you. Very slowly, as if you were mentally deficient in some way. "Load of nonsense."

When he looked at you like that, you felt two inches high.

"People grow apart…" you finally mumbled.

"Friends don't, lass," said Bofur kindly, "though acquaintances might. And people who have beheld my bare bum on more than one occasion generally count among my friends."

"Yeah? What about that lady in Bree? The one whose aunt chased you off with a poker?" came a sardonic voice from the hallway.

"I remember her fondly," Bofur said with a beatific smile. "Though perhaps not as a friend, precisely."

His pleasant expression turned sour as Nori shoved him out of the way to survey the room with interest. "What's with all this chatter about friends? Cozy place, Y/N!" he exclaimed.

Bofur shoved back. You winced as Nori staggered into Kili, who absently pushed him off. Nori barrelled into Bofur, whose shoulder smacked into the door frame in turn. A vicious tussle ensued.

" _Enough!_ " Thorin bellowed.

You winced at the volume. Everybody quieted, briefly subdued.

You took a deep breath and tried to use the reprieve to calm your scattered thoughts.

"Y/N," Kili said kindly into the silence. "Please explain why you thought we would not be happy to see you. We do not mean to be rude, it's just that your reasoning seems a little… odd to us. We would really like to understand."

You blinked at him. So coherent. And, well… _tactful_. Man, his brief exposure to diplomatic service had really worked marvels.

"Look," you said, struggling to put into words something you yourself did not quite understand, "I'm nothing special. I'm not a warrior like most of you, or a politician like Balin, or anything that's any damn use in this place. Just because you got saddled with me along the way by some whim of fate and were nice enough to take me with you doesn't mean you have to like me, or want me around."

There was a pause as everybody digested this.

"But we _do_ like you, Y/N," Kili told you. "We don't need a reason."

"We don't pick our friends by their usefulness, lass. The idea!"

"Yeah, we don't pick our friends at all," Fili interjected dryly. "Otherwise, how can you explain Nori here?"

"I resent that," said Nori with a smirk. "The blond git is right, though. You don't pick yer friends like ye would a pony. It's more like… they _attach_ to you."

"Like barnacles."

"Or spiderwebs."

"Ugh, _spiders_."

"Yeah. Don't remind me."

"What _are_ barnacles?"

"You're an idiot."

"Oh, hello everybody!" called a cheery voice. "Is there a meeting?" Then, slightly more worried, "Dori, come quick! I think we missed a meeting! Oooh, Thorin will be so angry… Why, just yesterday he—"

"There's no meeting," Fili interrupted, waving the new arrivals forward. "Just a small gathering of _friends_ ," he added, looking pointedly at you.

"Ah, that's all right then," Ori sighed. "Oh, would you move aside a little, I can't see…"

Grumbling, the dwarves clustered inside the door frame let him pass, then closed ranks just in time for Dori to slam into them with a grunt. Nori sniggered. Another brief tussle ensued, ended by a hard glance from Dwalin.

Ori brightened as he saw you. "Oh, Y/N! What a pleasant surprise! I looked for you many times, but it was as if you'd vanished."

You blinked. "You- you looked for me?"

"Of course, the very moment I had a breather! There is still a lot of work to be done — oh, hello, Your Majesty!" he broke off to sketch a flustered little bow towards Thorin.

Bofur raised an eyebrow at you. "Told you," he grunted.

They were all so _nice_ , in their rowdy, bumbling way. Something in you loosened, spreading a rush of warmth through your chest. With the warmth, a familiar lump rose in your throat. You bit down hard on your lip, trying not to cry.

"Told her what?" Ori inquired.

"Oh, Y/N thinks we wouldn't want to be her friends because she's like a lame pony," Nori explained.

"… What?"

"She thinks she's no use to us."

"B-but that's not how friends work…" Ori said.

You chewed more savagely at your lip. It didn't help. The knot in your throat expanded. Your eyes flooded.

"Yeah, we tried to explain. I'm not sure she got it, though. She looks a bit pale. Y/N, are you well?"

You turned away, hoping nobody saw the tears running silently down your cheeks as the tension and worry you'd felt for months melted away. Hugging yourself, you tried unsuccessfully to stop your shoulders from shaking.

"What's she doing now? Did I say something wrong?"

"I think she's crying and doesn't want us to see," explained Dori. "Y/N, are you crying?"

"Oh no, she's crying!" Ori bounced agitatedly on his toes, clearly unaccustomed to leaking females. "Y/N, don't cry! We love you and we don't care if you're lame or have bad teeth."

"… What are you talking about? Her teeth are fine!"

A small laugh escaped you through the tears. It sounded like a sob.

"Look, you've made it worse!"

"I was merely running with that pony analogy—"

"Stop. Talking," snapped Dori.

"Everyone shut _up_!" Dwalin roared. "The lass needs a minute."

Silence descended, punctuated only by your quiet gasps and the clanking of fidgeting dwarves.

"Maybe someone should give her a hug?" whispered Kili eventually. "Y'know, to calm her down a little."

"Take it from me, hugs make it worse," Bofur whispered back with a connoisseur's air. "That's when the wailin' starts. She just needs to get it out of her system."

Another long minute passed, punctuated by your hiccuping breaths as you treated everyone to your best impression of a landed trout.

"I'm not sure wailing can be any worse," Kili murmured doubtfully. "Come _on_ , she sounds like she's dying!"

Another minute passed. You tried really hard to calm down, to no avail.

"That's it. I can't stand this. I'm going in."

"You'll do no such thing," Thorin snapped.

"You do it then!"

You heard a long sigh. Moments later you found yourself gently turned around and folded against a strong chest. Thorin's chest.

Your first impression was heat. He radiated warmth like a majestic, broad-shouldered furnace. Then: utter, all-encompassing safety. Thorin smelled like fresh snow and pine, skin-warmed leather and that subtle, male scent that was uniquely his. His whole body was curled protectively around you. His arms did not merely hold, they cradled you.

You hugged his waist fiercely in return and felt his jaw brush your hair. He rubbed your back in light circles while his other hand stroked your hair in long, gentle passes. Slowly, the nervous tension that gripped your limbs dissipated. The uncontrollable shivers slowed, then abated entirely; in their place a sweet lassitude spread through you like honey.

After a blissful eternity, Thorin's lips brushed the shell of your ear, making you shiver. "Better?" His voice was husky, as if he'd just woken from a deep sleep.

You blushed. "Much. Thank you."

You waited for him to release you. When nothing happened you looked up to find him watching you with an odd half-smile. Belatedly, it occurred to you that your red nose and blotchy, tear-stained complexion were not exactly romance material. Embarrassed, you removed your arms from his waist.

Thorin still held on.

"You can let me go now," you whispered. "I'm fine."

He released you very slowly, brushing a wayward lock of hair behind your ear in parting. You leaned into his touch like an attention-starved puppy before you noticed what you were doing and jerked away. His smile widened.

" _Magic!_ " whispered Kili in awe.

Oh. You'd forgotten all about your audience.

They were watching you quite raptly. Kili had gone so far as to rest his chin on his brother's shoulder. There was a proud grin on Fili's face, and you wondered briefly what that was about.

"I'm really sorry I cried," you told them. "I— I guess it was all a bit much."

"Nah, happens to the best of us,"Kili lied. Then, hopefully: "You're done now, though. Right?"

You held up your hand. "I promise."

Bofur waved that off. "It's quite all right, lass. We should've noticed earlier somethin' was wrong."

"Yeah. We won't be repeatin' that mistake."

"We'll make sure to visit every day."

"Twice a day!" piped up Ori enthusiastically.

You pondered that for a moment. "Uh…"

"We'll bring you food."

"And take you to see the sights."

"Aye! The forges are spectacular this time of year."

"We'll take you huntin'!"

This last bit of inventiveness garnered a hearty chorus of approval. "Aye! We can spend the night outside, just like old times!"

You shivered just thinking about it.

Thorin placed a casual hand at the small of your back. "Bofur. Tell Balin I need him to take over tonight."

"Even the—"

"Yes."

Bofur nodded and left.

Thorin turned to the others and gave them a Look.

Kili blanched. "Oh, look atthe time!" One moment he was standing there, the next he was simply gone.

"Indeed." Nori also vanished.

Fili sketched a bow at you, nodded at Thorin, then retreated at a dignified pace.

"I just remembered I have a very important somethingorother…" squeaked Ori and was gone, dragging Dori behind him.

Dwalin nodded at you and left without commentary, closing the doors behind him.

* * *

 

Silence descended once more. Your ears fairly buzzed with it.

"Well, that was interesting," you said, hyperaware that Thorin's fingers still rested at the small of your back. "Does the whole company live around here?"

Thorin nodded. "Most of them. Glóin lives in a different part of the mountain where there are more families with children Gimli's age, and Bombur wished to be closer to the kitchens."

"That's nice. I guess I won't get lonely then."

A smile flickered across his face. "I don't think there's much of a chance of that, no."

On impulse, you clasped Thorin's hand in both of yours. "I'm glad. I missed you guys terribly."

He squeezed your fingers. "I owe you an apology."

"Whatever for?"

"After the battle when you did not visit with any of us, I thought you'd had enough of rough company. I should have known better."

"I tried to see you. It doesn't matter now, I guess. But… not all members of your company were equally welcome."

His face darkened. "I did not know."

"I realize that. And I'm not blaming anyone."

"The dwarf who stopped you. Who was it?"

You shrugged. "I don't know. I hadn't seen him before. I just… I don't want you thinking I didn't care."

His thumb absently caressed the back of your hand. "Nevertheless, we must talk about this in greater detail. I wish I had the time tonight, but there is much I must do before morning."

You nodded. "I understand."

He waited until you looked up at him before he spoke again. "I will be stuck in negotiations for most of the week, perhaps longer. I will not be able to visit you."

"Oh, Thorin, I understand! It's not like I'm the arbiter of your time. You're a king, you're bound to be busy. I'm happy I could see you at all." You ducked your head again. "Very happy."

"We will speak more when I return."

"Of course."

"I have sent for books," he said, "and parchment. You are an inveterate scribbler, if I recall correctly."

You rewarded him with a tremulous smile. "That was very thoughtful. I can't thank you enough… For everything."

"It is no more than your due." He inclined his head. "I shall take my leave now. If you lack anything, do not hesitate to speak to one of the guards."

You heart clenched in helpless yearning as you watched him leave, wanting nothing more than to touch him again. Eventually you turned away, closing the door softly. It was going to be torture to live so close to him. Torture, and bliss.

Mad as it was, you were looking forward to it.


	3. Chapter 3

 

The next morning, you woke slowly from the most restful sleep you'd had in ages. Watery sunlight caressed your face, filtered through a bluish quartz dome at the center of the ceiling.

You stretched, inhaling the fresh scent of luxurious bed linens. The last wisps of a clinging dream slowly faded, leaving behind an idea. The dream had been confusing, but it left behind a vivid image of great greenhouses beneath the mountain, lit by mirrors and fed by a great array of water pipes. You found yourself eager to talk about it, find out whether it was feasible.

A quick inquiry to one of the guards revealed that most of the company were tied up with the ongoing negotiations or their regular tasks, so you decided that you would dig into your meagre funds and use the morning to buy a new dress. You couldn't live in the royal wing and dress like a beggar, it wouldn't reflect well on Thorin.

To your surprise, a dwarf you knew fleetingly from the kitchens delivered a lovely meal of porridge and canned fruit. You savored a leisurely breakfast and washed up, delighting in the scented soap and soft towels that you found waiting for you. You had just finished dressing when Kili knocked on your door, looking very chipper in a fur-lined coat over a maroon tunic edged with gold.

He beamed at you. "Good morning, Y/N!"

You smiled back. "Good morning! This is a surprise. Not that I'm not glad to see you."

"I'm at your disposal today," he announced, bouncing on his toes.

This was news to you. "How come? I thought you'd be busy with the negotiations like everybody else."

"Ah, but I'm not the crown prince," Kili stated with relish. "As I have no other talents to recommend me for diplomacy, and my temper would ensure I try to strangle Thranduil half an hour in, Uncle has wisely decided that I am excused. Which is why I am here, pestering you."

"I'm glad you're here," you said. "I had plans, but nothing that can't be changed."

"Ah, but you don't have to change your plans on my account! Unless you were planning something naughty, in which case I insist to be included!" He smiled winningly at you.

You motioned at your worn travel leathers, the only alternative to the sack-like dress that had offended everybody yesterday. "Sorry, no naughtiness. I just wanted to get some new clothes. If you know a seamstress that has reasonable prices that would be lovely. I don't have much money."

Kili's smile widened. "I do. In fact, I can take you there right now!"

Your brow knitted in puzzlement. "Wouldn't that be unseemly?"

"Unseemly? _Please_. Y/N, we've bathed in the same waters more than once. I've seen everything you have to offer."

You waved that away. "I get that you couldn't care less if you see me in the buff or not, but…"

"Oh, no! Seeing your nude body could never become boring!" Kili interrupted gallantly. "It is a very pretty sight, to be sure."

"Uh, thank you. I think. But I was under the impression that dwarves in general were more, uh, restrained? Prudish?"

Kili broke out in laughter. "You travelled with Bofur! And Fili! And me! Wherever did you get _that_ idea?"

"Uh, around? It's just an impression. Everybody here looks so forbidding. Buttoned-up. I thought things were different on the quest because we were far from civilization, so to speak."

"No, not at all. Besides, you will not be parading in the nude along the main thoroughfare, you'll be in your smallclothes, trying on dresses in a dressmaker's parlor. Hardly the same thing."

You shrugged. "If you say so…"

Kili took your arm. "I do. Come on, we must be quick if we want you properly outfitted by tomorrow evening."

You hurried after him. "Tomorrow evening?"

He nodded, lengthening his steps until you nearly had to run to keep up with him.

"Is something happening tomorrow evening that requires me to dress up?"

"No, no, nothing's happening."

Kili always repeated himself when he was being shifty. You squinted up at him. "Your nose is growing."

He returned your glance with a puzzled frown. "My nose is the same size it always was."

"I mean you're lying."

"I might be prevaricating," he admitted.

"Same thing. What's tomorrow evening?"

"Nothing! I just can't wait to see you properly dressed, that's all."

You let it go. "I'm just getting the one dress. And it has to be a cheap one."

"We'll see."

"What do you mean, we'll see? I only have money for one dress."

Kili squeezed your hand. "You are a member of The Company, Y/N. One of these days, you'll understand what that means."

"I understand now!"

"Clearly you don't, or you wouldn't be talking about _money_."

* * *

"Let me have a look at you, dear."

Clad only in your underwear, you stood like a slightly awkward Venus of Milo while the dressmaker and her assistants swarmed around you, taking measurements and conversing in terse whispers.

Kili sprawled on a padded settee, trying not to laugh at you.

"These breast bindings are unusual," remarked the dressmaker delicately, pointing at your bra. Black lace over a pair of sturdy foam cups, it was a relic from your past that you were thankful for every day. You treated it like a raw egg, hoping to preserve it for as long as possible.

"Uh, yes, they are common among my people," you improvised.

"How do they close? I cannot quite discern…"

"Hooks and eyes. I don't think you have them here?"

Both the dressmaker and Kili perked up.

"May I see?" she asked.

"Of course. Here, I can show you." You twisted your arms behind your back until you'd reached the closure so you could unhook it. The dwarrowdam watched closely as you demonstrated a few times.

"Ingenious," she breathed.

"This is the only bra I have, but if you'd like to take a pattern I can come in one day and wait?" you offered.

"You would do this?"

You nodded. "Of course, why not?"

She curtsied. "I accept, and thank you greatly for your generosity."

You nodded back. "Uh, sure."

"May I see now too?" Kili interjected cheekily.

You ignored him. The assistants had brought in several dresses in different stages of completion. You tried them all on while people poked and prodded at you, marking seams that had to be taken in and discarding perfectly serviceable dresses because the color was deemed unflattering. You ended up with a lot of royal blue and quite a bit of impractical ivory and gold.

Kili also made sure you received a warm, fur-lined coat, a furry hat and even boots. You were happy about the boots, since yours were worn so thin in places that holes were imminent.

Dressed in your new finery, you proposed going out in the fresh air. Kili was game, and so you ended up on one of the terraces, enjoying a spectacular view under a clear, bright blue sky.                                                                                                    


You burrowed into your new coat, delighting in the contrast between its toasty warmth and the ice cold air. "You said you're at my disposal, right?"

Kili gave you a wary glance. "So I did."

"I've been thinking…"

"I'm trembling in my boots already."

You slapped his shoulder. "I want to be useful, and—"

"Oh, not that again! You don't have to do anything more! You're worth enough to us just being you!"

"Thanks, that's all well and good, but I can't just sit around and do nothing all day."

"I suppose I can understand that," he admitted grudgingly.

"Well, I tried to think of some service I can provide, something only I can do, and I finally had an idea." You took a deep breath. "I'd like to build a greenhouse."

Kili raised an eyebrow. "Erebor is already quite green, in case you haven't noticed. What's a greenhouse?"

You explained.

His eyes widened. "And this is possible in your world?"

"Well, yes. It's just a matter of supplying sunlight, water and soil. There needs to be drainage, of course, and you have to keep the air moving. But yes."

Kili, for all that he was a warrior, was also a dwarf, and dwarves came with an innate understanding of how to shape the world with machinery. You could see his mind working furiously behind those dark eyes, running through possibilities.

"You think this can be done inside the mountain."

"It won't be easy," you said.

"Of course not, where would the fun be in that?"

"Anyway, I thought that you can bring in the right soil with little trouble, and if you place the greenhouse close to the forges you can even use the heat to grow things that wouldn't normally thrive in this climate." You bit your lip, growing more excited with each word. "Sunlight is more of a problem. I've taken a look at how Erebor is lit, and I've seen that sunlight comes in through narrow tunnels to the surface. I couldn't take a closer look, but I assume they are reflective inside?"

Kili looked at you with a sudden respect. "Yes, they are coated with polished copper."

"How do you collect enough sunlight on the surface? Such a narrow opening wouldn't let enough it, and I've seen that the tunnels are not straight either, so there would be some loss along the way."

"We use glass."

"Curved? Like a lens?"

"Yes."

You found you were nearly trembling with excitement. "Well then, to gather enough sunlight for a greenhouse you'd need at least one opening to the surface, and I was thinking maybe an array of mirrors to distribute the light better? I don't know if you can do large ones, but maybe lots of little ones placed together, so the light gets where it needs to go?"

Kili's gaze grew unfocused as he concentrated. "I can picture that. We have quite a few jewellers who are twiddling their thumbs at the moment because we have no working gem mines. I can put them to work on mirrors. It's going to be harder to get building engineers, those are all needed in the mines."

"We? So you'll help me?"

"Are you joking? Of course I'll help. If this works, everybody will have to kiss my arse for years to come!"

You bounced on your toes, barely able to believe that your idea was receiving such an enthusiastic response. "Really?"

"Oh yes. Do you know how much Dain charges for potatoes? Your arse too, don't worry. There's enough glory here for two."

"I honestly expected you to shut me down, so I'm not sure how to react. I'm excited, though."

Kili grinned at you. "You should be. It's a brilliant idea."

You hugged him, unable to contain your joy any longer. He hugged you back.

"I do have one stipulation," he said.

You grinned. "Anything."

Not a word to Thorin," Kili said. "Not until it's ready, or he'll swoop in and take control, and he can't use any more responsibilities. He barely sleeps as it is."

Since you weren't eager to heap more work onto Thorin's overfull plate, you agreed. Not that you expected to see him that often in future, considering his workload.

* * *

The next evening found you lying on your stomach on the carpet, the papers for the greenhouse project spread out around you. The inkwell had been placed on an overturned crate that you'd liberated from the kitchens earlier. Your new blue dress had already acquired an ink stain, thankfully only a small one.

A cheerful fire danced behind the grate. Your tongue poked out between your lips as you wrote down a list of tasks and open problems to give to Kili in the morning. The engineer he'd assigned to you seemed competent enough but rather narrow in his expertise, so quite a bit of organizing still fell to you.

A brisk knock sounded at the door.

You called "Enter!" and rose, eager for company, freezing when you recognized your visitor.

"Thorin! This is a surprise."

"A pleasant one, I hope."

"Oh yes!" You nodded, a little too fervently.

_Tone it down, woman_.

Thorin gave you a tired smile. "Then I hope this will be equally welcome." He moved aside. A quartet of dwarves you had not seen before brought in a table and several chairs and left. A fifth dwarf bowed his way into the room, carrying a large covered basket. He set it on the table and departed with another bow.

You looked curiously at the basket and sniffed the air. "That's a delicious smell. What is it?"

"Supper, if you will agree to share it with me." Thorin rubbed the back of his neck. "Though I might have presumed too much."

"I will be very happy to share your supper. And thank you for the table and chairs!"

"You are welcome. It was an oversight on my part that you had to do without."

"Don't mention it. As you can see, I made do." You motioned at the mess of paper on the floor.

"Ah," was all Thorin said.

"Still," you said quickly, "it will be nice to have a table to spread out on."

Thorin cocked his head with a smirk. "Hmm?"

Your eyes widened as you realized what you had said. "At! Spread out _at!_ Heavens _,_ Thorin, you're not supposed to actually listen when I'm talking!"

His smirk widened into a grin. "Are you advising me to ignore you?"

You tapped a finger to your lips, pretending to think. "It's probably safer that way."

"Forgive me, but I'm afraid I shall continue to eschew safety in favor of entertainment."

You narrowed your eyes at him, taking in the lines of tension bracketing his mouth, the strain beneath the easy amusement. Negotiations must not be going well. "By the look of you, you're in dire need of some entertainment, your Majesty."

He straightened. "Am I that transparent?"

"You're that tired, I think, and I'm keeping you out in the hallway. Please, come in. Sit down." It was a measure of his exhaustion that he complied without further comment, seating himself at the head of the table. 

You wanted to smooth your hands over his hair, caress away the lines of tension that bracketed his mouth. Instead, you threw another log on the fire and stoked it a little, thankful you'd thought to start it in the first place. "You must be ravenous. Did you even eat today?"

"Not yet," he confessed.

"You can start unpacking the food if you like. I'll only be a minute."

As Thorin made himself comfortable at the table, you picked up your scattered work and placed it in a sewing basket. Then you joined Thorin in unpacking the food, oohing and aahing as you discovered a variety of decadent delicacies, accompanied by two bottles of fine red wine.

"Someone is trying to get us drunk," you remarked.

Thorin smirked. "That might be me. I sent word to Bombur he should not skimp on the wine. I swear, he guards it as if it were gold."

You squinted at the date on the bottle. "Wine this old might as well be gold! You'll have to drink most of it by yourself though, because I'm a terrible lightweight. One glass and I start to dance on tables."

And here was your mouth again, running ahead of your brain.

Thorin's eyes darkened. "I should like to see that."

"It's not as interesting as it sounds," you countered. You ducked your head to hide the flush that painted your cheeks pink, and busied yourself distributing plates and cutlery. Thorin smiled at you as you folded his napkin into a swan and presented it to him with a flourish. 

"Thank you. Where did you learn how to do this?"

"My mom taught me." Wistfulness flooded you at the reminiscence. You missed your mother every day, but you could only be thankful that she'd passed before you'd stumbled into Middle Earth. Losing you like that, without any explanation, would have destroyed her. "It's the only shape I can do. Mom used to despair of my hostess skills."

"She should not have. I feel quite at home already."

His words warmed you. If only, you thought. For a brief moment, you allowed yourself to picture a life together. A string of evenings sharing food and laughter unfolded before your mind's eye.

You cast the thoughts aside. Even if he was mildly attracted to you, Thorin was still the king while you were a human of no particular rank or distinction. Fooling around in a forest with no witnesses was one thing — repeating that at Erebor with the vast social gap between you quite another. You should enjoy Thorin's company and stop dreaming about an impossible future.

"Y/N? What is it?" Thorin asked. When you focused on him he was watching you with concern.

"It's nothing," you said, forcing a smile. "Just woolgathering."

"If I may ask… Did you leave family behind when you passed between worlds?"

"A brother, but we weren't close. Dad passed away when I was little and Mom about a year before it happened. An accident. Drunk driver in bad weather…" You swallowed back tears.

"I grieve with you," Thorin said, very formally.

"That's… That's a lovely thing to say. Thank you."

"Will you share their names with me?"

"What for? I mean yes, of course."

"You are family to us, Y/N. Your name has been recorded in our histories, and I shall see to it that your parents' names are set down as well."

You sniffled, overcome. "Oh, Thorin!"

"It was not my intention to bring you to tears," he said.

"These are happy tears," you assured him, wiping at your eyes with the back of your sleeve. "I never expected to be offered something like this, that's all."

"I sometimes forget how easily moved you are," he said pensively.

You straightened, banishing your maudlin mood with an effort. "Is that a good thing or a bad thing?"

"A remarkable thing, given the hardships you have endured."

Compared to what you knew of Thorin’s life, the hardships he mentioned were laughable. Adjusting to the constant danger during the quest and then to helplessness and despair when Thorin had descended into gold sickness had been difficult, but hardly as special as he made it sound. The silence stretched. You had no idea how to fill it and Thorin seemed content to just sit there and stare vaguely into space.

Bereft of words, you dug into the basket for goblets. Ah. There. You handed one to Thorin, who took it with a murmur of thanks.

"Please, sit down," he said. "I am capable of serving myself."

"Shush," you told him. "Mom would kill me."

You looked around to see whether you'd forgotten some important step, but there was nothing else left to do except distribute the food, and you expected Thorin might bite off your head if you tried to fill his plate for him. He'd sat at the foot of the table, as befitted the king. You sat down kitty corner from him, hoping it wasn't too close.

He favored you with an approving smile. Not too close, then.

You smiled back. Considering how tired and hungry he must be, he sure smiled a whole lot.

You ate largely in silence at first, both too hungry to pace yourselves properly. After a few minutes, however, your stomach settled down and you started to truly appreciate the quality of the food in front of you. The venison was delicious; the bread still warm from the oven, with a nice, crunchy crust. Quail eggs and cheese accompanied that, and for dessert Bombur had sent delicious, moist honey cakes.

"This is incredible," you raved between bites.

"Bombur has indeed outdone himself," agreed Thorin. "Though truthfully, I would have settled for dried bread." He drained his goblet in one long swallow.

You poured more wine for him and took a sip of water.

"I hope I did not interrupt you earlier," Thorin said conversationally.

"Not at all. Why would you think that?"

He nodded at the stack of greenhouse notes. "That is a great deal of paper, and you seemed absorbed." he remarked.

Your head flew up. "Oh. Yes, I guess."

"Are you working on something in particular?"

"Just a small project. Nothing important."

"Do you require help?"

"I have help, but thanks for asking."

"From whom, if I may ask?"

"Kili."

"Ah. So that's where he disappeared to. Fili was quite amazed by his sudden industriousness."

"Oh, he's been a great help," you assured Thorin.

"If you are prepared to share, I would love to hear about your project."

You squirmed in your seat. While you'd love nothing more than to spill the beans, you'd promised Kili. And besides, Thorin couldn't use the distraction while he was engaged in delicate negotiations. "I'd love to tell you about it," you said. "Just let me iron out the kinks first."

He let it go. "Whenever you are ready."

"I can't imagine how busy you must be right now. Are the negotiations going well?"

Thorin rubbed a hand over his face. "As well as can be expected, I suppose."

"Is that good or bad?"

Thorin took a sip of wine as he pondered the simple question. "The negotiations," he finally said in a measured tone, "are thoroughly buggered."

You shrank back. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

"Don't be. It's no secret that Thranduil is a stubborn oaf."

"Um… What is he being stubborn about?"

"The Forest Road is vital to the rebuilding of Erebor and Dale, and yet Thranduil places restrictions on its travel that render it nigh unusable."

You had noticed the merchant caravans thinning out over the last few weeks. If most of them had to take the long way around, not even Erebor's riches wound be enough to tempt people into making the arduous journey in the dead of winter.

"Does he give a reason?"

"He does not wish to tie up the amount of troops required to make the road safe for tradesmen and common folk. He feels it would draw away too many forces from his other borders."

"Is he right about that?"

Thorin sighed. "Yes. The battle has dealt the enemy a crippling blow, but there are still enough scattered bands of orcs crawling the borders of the forest to be a problem."

You hesitated, sure that anything you could say would have already been considered and discarded by Thorin and his advisors. Still, it couldn't hurt to try. "I was under the impression that Dain has sent a great deal of goods from the Iron Hills, and I know he doesn't care about the Forest Road. Could he send more to make up for the supply gap, at least until winter's over?"

The corner of Thorin's mouth curled up in a humorless smile. "Oh, he would be happy to — at a mark-up of two hundred percent, as opposed to the hundred percent he already charges us on top of the usual prices."

"I don't understand. Isn't he your ally? Your _cousin?_ "

"This is a business matter that has nothing to do with family. Dain will happily fleece us, and while I could pay his ridiculous prices in the beginning without repercussions, I can no longer afford to do so now."

"Because you would be seen as weak."

Thorin sighed. "Worse. I would be seen as inept. It is my responsibility as king to put trade alliances in place and make sure they are advantageous for my people. Especially if I wish to unite the clans under my rule."

You searched his eyes. "You don't seem angry. More… frustrated?"

"You know me well."

You had spent enough time gazing lovingly at his face from a distance to learn many of his subtler expressions, though of course you couldn't say that. "Would it help you to talk some more about it?"

He leaned back in his chair. "It might. Yours is bound to be an unusual perspective."

"That's a nice way of putting it."

"I meant it. If you have any insights to share, I would welcome them."

"Okay." You concentrated. "Let's see if I understand. You have the gold, but you need all kinds of supplies, and you have to completely rebuild trade relations and alliances, especially with Men. Which won't work if your main trade road may be used only at full moon every second month, or whatever Thranduil expects. Do I have this right?"

His brow quirked. "Yes. Succinctly put."

"You seem surprised."

"I knew you were bright. I merely never thought you'd be interested in politics."

You shrugged. "I'm interested in survival. I imagine that's a trait we all share, even Thranduil. And that's what I don't get. If Thranduil really wants to secure his borders, he can only be interested in a strong Erebor and Dale at his back. It might tax his resources in the beginning, but it would free up troops in the long run."

Thorin's gaze sharpened. "So it would."

"But of course," you mused, "he's just locked horns with you and Dain a few months ago. It was dwarves against elves before it was everybody against Azog, so he might be afraid to aid a potential enemy too much. Still, if something worse is coming down the road, as Gandalf seemed to imply it might, he can't afford _not_ to help you."

Thorin smiled. "You are doing _very_ well. Perhaps I should consider adding you to the ranks of my advisors. I'd certainly enjoy the view in the council chambers a lot more."

You gave a mock shudder to cover your pleased reaction. "Will there be a test?"

"There might be. Do you wish for one?"

"Let me get back to you on that. How long have the negotiations gone on now?"

"The current negotiations? A few days. The whole wretched dispute? Several months."

"Okay. I am not at all qualified to have an opinion, but here's what it boils down to me: Thranduil's here. He's opened up the Forest Road, however tentatively, and he's sitting here rehashing the same old arguments, just like you are, presumably in the hope that something will change. For what it's worth, I think he wants negotiations to succeed as much as you do."

Thorin frowned. "You might be right." He eyed you. "There is more."

You shook your head.

"There is more and you are afraid to say it." He leaned forward to brush his knuckles across your cheek. "Y/N, never be afraid to speak to me. Of anything."

You blushed again. "You'll be angry."

"I promise I will not."

You took a deep breath. What you had to say would not be said by traditional dwarves like Balin. It went against the secrecy they so valued, against their pride. "I think he needs a proper concession. Something big. Something he can't ask for because you'd be yelling for his head if he did. You have to offer him something like that, and you'll probably have to fight Balin and everyone else to do it."

You hesitated. Thorin motioned for you to go on.

Well, in for a penny, in for a pound. "Thranduil is an isolationist. But Thorin, so are dwarves… and I don't think you can afford to be quite so closed off anymore. You breed quicker than the elves but men breed quicker than you do, and orcs breed a lot quicker than anybody else. It can't be everyone for themselves anymore, or you'll lose — if not this generation, then the next, or the one after that. I think you'll need to strengthen your ties with Dale even more. You'll have to help train their army and arm them properly; forge a true alliance. And you'll have to give the elves something of value to receive something in return. Because whatever Thranduil says, he's afraid of being diminished further, of his kingdom shrinking until there's nothing left."

"You have given this a great deal of thought," Thorin said.

"Of course. I live here. And I'm on your side, no matter what."

He regarded you in silence for so long, you feared you'd angered him after all. Butthen he only leaned back in his seat. "I thank you for sharing your insights. They are as unique as I expected."

You let out a breath you hadn't noticed you were holding. "That bad, huh?" you joked.

"Not at all," he said. "You have given me much to think about."

It was a courtly answer that gave away nothing of his thoughts. You took a sip of wine to settle your nerves and realized too late that you'd drunk from Thorin's goblet.

"Oh, I'm sorry!"

Thorin quirked an eyebrow. Then with great deliberation, he picked up the goblet and drank from the exact spot your lips had just touched. "Think nothing of it," he drawled.

You blushed again and hurried to change the subject. "I hope I haven't offended you."

"I will never be offended by truthfulness," Thorin said dryly. "It's in short enough supply these days. I value your thoughts. I only wish you shared them with me more readily."

Grabbing the goblet, you gulped down more wine and looked away from him as it heated your cheeks further. "I'll try."

You could feel Thorin's gaze on you, indulgent and a little amused. As you looked around, desperate for a distraction, your gaze alighted on the honey cakes, arranged in a perfect little pyramid of bliss on a golden platter. You eyed them with longing. Technically, your belly was full. Magically, though, there was still enough room for unlimited cake.

"Please," said Thorin. "Help yourself." He picked up his wine again.

With great ceremony, you selected a piece and bit into it. A delighted moan escaped you.

Thorin paused in the process of bringing the goblet to his mouth. Then, with great deliberation, he set it down again.

You barely noticed, utterly consumed by the heavenly taste in your mouth. Thorin could not be allowed to miss out another minute!

"Ooooh, you have to try this," you burst out, and leaned over to offer him a bite of your cake, completely forgetting that there was a whole plate left for him to pick one for himself.

Your gazes connected as Thorin bit into the offered piece. His lips brushed your fingers. Your own lips parted, tongue peeking out in sympathy as he chewed and swallowed, eyes never leaving yours.

"What do you think?"

"Delicious," he agreed huskily. You'd never heard his voice go quite so deep and you leaned forward in reaction, offering more of your cake to him.

"More?"

"Please."

He took another bite, and this time the tip of his tongue brushed the very tips of your fingers. His gaze grew languid as he chewed.

Mesmerized, you stuffed the rest of the small cake into your mouth and chewed along with him.

Thorin swallowed. You followed suit.

Then, because your brain had stopped working altogether, you placed your sticky fingers into your mouth and sucked off the mixture of rose water and honey, curling your tongue to get at a stubborn crumb. 

Belatedly, you noticed what you were doing and jerked your hand away into your lap. Your cheeks flamed with a fiery blush.

Thorin caught your chin gently and brushed his thumb over the corner of your mouth.

"You missed a spot," he explained huskily.

"Mhm?"

His thumb traveled to your lower lip. "Lick," he commanded.

You acquiesced, licking obligingly at the pad of his thumb. A jumble of sensations flooded you. Callused skin. Salt. Thorin.

You could only stare helplessly as Thorin's lips parted and he used his wet thumb to rub a patch of stickiness away from your chin. A shudder of pure need skittered down your spine. 

His fingers tightened slightly on your jaw, then loosened with a deliberate effort. His hand slapped the table and he pushed back his chair, rising abruptly. The scrape of the chair legs rang unnaturally loud in the silence.

"I must leave you now," he said. There was true regret in his deep voice, and a tightness that belied iron control. "It has been a pleasure. I would like to enjoy your company more often in the future, if you are amenable."

You exhaled a shuddering breath. As much as you craved his company, too many evenings like this would drive you mad. "I'd love to. Whenever you have the time."

"As you know, time is in short supply at the moment. I shall let you know." He inclined his head. "Someone will be by to collect the leftover food. Keep the wine. You might find it to your taste after all."

With one last nod he left as abruptly as he had arrived.

As exciting as it had been, Thorin's visit had worn you out and the large quantity of food you had consumed only added to your sleepiness. You washed and cleaned your teeth, then turned the lights down and crawled into bed. The fire had nearly died out, its last embers mere pinpricks of orange in the velvet quiet of the bedroom; the darkness curled around you like a sleepy cat. The pillow was pleasantly cool and fluffy and hadn't yet flattened out, and the thick duvet trapped the heat of the dying fire, making a cozy cocoon. Suspended on the tightrope between sleep and waking, dreams curled like smoke around you, holding worlds.


	4. Chapter 4

After the impromptu dinner, you barely saw Thorin for two weeks. It was understandable — negotiations were ongoing, and he had the day to day ruling of Erebor to contend with as well. Kili had taken the time to introduce you to a second young engineer eager to make his mark, and once you explained your greenhouse idea to him, the fellow attached himself to your with a fervor that was as gratifying as it was alarming. His name was Nin.

You spent your days bent over plans while Nin devised an elaborate mirror system to distribute sunlight evenly across a vast cave, then traipsing all over Erebor with Nin and Thekk, the other engineer, in search of a good place to erect a greenhouse. More and more often, strange dwarves came up to you to assure you that you were quite welcome, and if you had any trouble at all with dwarf customs, you could come to them for help.

This was, in a word, puzzling.

You asked Nin about it, but he had little awareness for anything besides metal tolerances and the details of load-bearing structures. It was Bofur who cleared everything up when he surprised you with an impromptu visit.

Knowing Kili had taken him into his confidence, you showed him Nin's plans, and he nodded absently at you. "Impressive!" he said. "Look, Y/N, there's a change of plans for today. Thorin's decreed you're to receive additional clothing more suited to your station — his words exactly. I'm to take you for fittings."

You started protesting even though you knew by now it was a lost battle. "I can't really afford—"

"He's the king, Y/N," Bofur admonished you. "If the king wants you to get new clothes, you get new clothes. The question of payment doesn't arise and I'd advise you not to bring it up in public. It might give the impression that you think the king incapable of affording the paltry cost of a new wardrobe."

"That wasn't my intention."

"While I understand that, others would see it that way."

You nodded, defeated. "Okay, I won't mention it."

That afternoon, Bofur took you to the same seamstress you'd visited with Kili.

While you stood there in your underwear being poked and prodded by an efficient aide who was even smaller than you were, if considerably wider, you asked Bofur about the odd occurrences of the last few days.

He nodded sagely. "Ah. We call that correcting a false impression."

You blinked at him. "And what false impression would that be?"

"That you are a common lass."

As Bofur explained it, the good folk of Erebor had come around quickly to the wisdom of having you live in the Mountain once the king's office issued a communique to the effect that you were a star, plucked from the sky and dropped into the king's lap by the Valar themselves. It was gently implied that anybody who hurt you, mistreated you or behaved in any way discourteously towards you would quickly find themselves either cleaning privies for the foreseeable future or short a head, depending on the gravity of the offense. This also neatly explained why you weren't a dwarf and had little knowledge of their customs.

It was mind-bogglingly ridiculous. Bofur was quite proud.

"We call that _propaganda_ where I come from," you told Bofur helpfully.

He liked the word, rolling it around in his mouth like a fine wine. "Pro-pa-gannnn-da! Propaganda. Propaganda? A fine word! You have my thanks."

You still couldn't believe they were telling people you were a fallen star. "Isn't this, I don't know, overkill? I mean, a _star_? Who's going to believe that?"

Bofur shrugged. "Oh, everybody… if it's packaged the right way."

When the dressmaker's aide came out with an armful of dresses in jewelled tones, all suspiciously close to your measurements, you began to understand what he meant by 'packaged'.

Your suspicions were confirmed when the first dress you received was an ivory silk robe with a split overdress and a sparse, nearly Elven silhouette. Rich embroidery in a softer geometric pattern than the usual dwarvish decorations set a contrast to the clean lines. White gems scattered like stars across the fine fabric flashed fire at you under the ceiling lights. This was not a dress, it was a _gown_.

"This looks rather expensive," you whispered to Bofur. "I thought we were supposed to get more everyday clothes."

"Those will come in time. The dress is a special gift."

"From Thorin?" You pictured Thorin taking a personal interest in your clothing and blushed.

"From the king, to a valued member of his Company."

You wondered if those were real gems. "It's very, uh… ornate."

Bofur smiled. "The king wants you to receive garments for all occasions."

The other dresses, ranging in color from a deep royal blue over rich purples to emerald greens, were all equally fine, though not quite as richly studded with gems. The colors were impeccably chosen, bringing out a lustre to your skin and hair and rendering your own coloring more vivid by contrast. The seamstress looked pleased as she whisked away all but the first dress for minor alterations.

You shuddered to think what occasion would require you to wear the ivory silk. Yet you didn't think it was a coincidence that this particular gown was the first and only garment to be ready that day, and therefore the one Bofur made to wear when you traipsed through half of Erebor on the way back to your quarters.

You changed out of it the moment Bofur left. You had a greenhouse to visit.

 

* * *

The structure that rose before you was utterly impressive, considering that only two weeks ago it had been a mere pipe dream. Kili could not be there, having been roped into the negotiations after all. Several dwarves nodded seriously at you as they passed, carrying fragile glass panes.

Now that you could actually see it, you were able to suggest several minor alterations. Dwarves had no gardeners, as such; but there were quite a few of them, like Bombur, with deep knowledge of wild plants and root vegetables. The dwarf responsible for cultivating the greenhouse told you he had arranged for the delivery of fertile soil. Apparently, he'd been growing herbs of his own in little pots for years, and had a keen interest in cultivation that his fellow dwarves didn't share.

You discussed irrigation and heating, what to do if the sunlight proved insufficient. The on-site engineer explained to you several technical details that went right over your head. Once he was done, your attention was claimed by another dwarf, and then another.

What should have been a short visit lasted several hours and kept you occupied well into the evening. You were bone tired when you shuffled past the guards on the way to your room.

An excited whoop brought you short. Then the sound of running steps echoed behind the bend in the corridor.

"You won't believe what Thorin did!" someone cried.

You recognized Fili's voice easily enough. The excited squeak punctuating the words was new, though. And he'd mentioned Thorin, which was always enough to hold your attention. You hurried forward, exhaustion forgotten.

"What? What did he do?" Ori piped.

"He took Thranduil to see the _forges_." Fili said 'forges' in the same hushed whisper other people used for sacred relics.

You inched closer and peered around the bend. Fili was huddled together with Ori, Dori and Dwalin, recounting Thranduil's visit to the forges in detail. None of them paid you any mind.

"He did _not,_ " gasped Ori, scandalized, at the same time Dori groused, "You're pulling me leg!"

"I'm not! He even offered to set up a new forge where dwarves and elves may come together and share techniques."

"It's true," rumbled Dwalin.

"Has Thorin taken leave of his senses?" demanded Dori.

Fili drew himself up and looked down his princely nose at Dori. "Well, Thranduil has just signed an agreement to open the Forest Road to unlimited traffic, and secure the Mirkwood portion appropriately, so no."

There was a lull in the conversation as everybody made some quick computations in their head.

Dori counted something on his fingers, moving his lips soundlessly. Fili, Ori and Nori shared identical satisfied smiles. In contrast, Dwalin looked slightly constipated, no doubt still smarting over the indignity of having to allow an elf into Erebor's inner sanctum.

"Well, bugger me sideways," said Dori eventually with uncharacteristic vulgarity. "He actually did it."

Nori looked towards the ceiling with the beatific smile of someone experiencing their personal Nirvana. In his case, it was the thought of cartloads of riches. "How long has it been?" he asked dreamily. "Five months of back and forth with that son of an elk?"

"At least," grunted a newly arrived Bofur. He was flanked by Kili, who wore the broadest grin you'd ever seen. "Hi, Y/N."

You nodded back.

"Y/N, didn't see you there," muttered Dori. Everybody nodded their distracted hellos at you before they turned their attention back to the gossip.

You rolled your eyes.

"Bofur! I see you survived our king's surprise," Dori said, clearly angling for more details.

Bofur scratched the back of his head beneath the hat. "Glad that's over and done with!" He looked around. "I see the rumor mill's as quick as ever."

"Quicker," said Dwalin.

"Yep!" Kili said. "And do you know the best part? We're not paying any reparations to Dale. Thorin's said for months that we can't afford to show that kind of weakness now. Instead, Thranduil is going to aid them in exchange for ten percent of Erebor's future profits over the next ten years, and his pick of any gems mined in the first two years."

Nori's eyes widened. "What did Balin say?"

Kili grinned even broader. "I'm pretty sure Thorin warned him beforehand. He had _charts_."

Bofur scratched his nose. "He could have warned _me_. I nearly had a heart attack. Especially when Thorin laid into Thranduil before making his offer. I thought the alliance was dead."

"Aye, I remember that bit!" Fili said with a proud smile. "It was glorious!"

"Oh, oh, I'l do it! I'll do it!" Kili puffed himself up majestically and lowered his voice. "When Smaug attacked, you refused aid because you thought us broken and therefore useless to you," he growled in a passable imitation of his uncle. "You broke the alliance between our people at a time when the slightest help would have earned you our undying loyalty. Make no mistake, the Longbeards will rise again, with or without your aid. If we have to tunnel beneath your forest, we will do it."

"Thorin _said_ all that?"

"Oh, aye. And more!"

"It's a wonder Thranduil didn't leave then and there," Ori whispered.

"Nah. He might be an elk's behind, but he knew he deserved it."

"Didn't mean he had to like it though…"

"He sure didn't," said Dwalin with a rare smirk. "Ah, the constipated look on his face!"

Kili nodded happily. "Like a week's turd refusing to come out."

"I wouldn't know what that's like," Dori sniffed. "I'm always regular."

After a brief silence over that pronouncement everybody agreed that a round of stiff drinks all around was more than deserved. You regretfully declined the invitation to join them. You had to update the notes on the greenhouse project while the details were still fresh in your mind, and then you had to get some sleep.

They had just left when Thorin appeared, looking like he'd just shrugged the weight of the world off his shoulders. All thoughts of greenhouses and work vanished in an instant. Without thinking you ran to him and jumped into his arms, laughing as he caught you and spun you around.

"You did it! You got him to agree!" You hugged him tight. His arms wrapped around you just as strongly and you pressed your hot face into the crook of his neck.

"I see you heard the good news already," he said into your hair.

"Yep, and a lot of good gossip besides. Did you really threaten Thranduil with a tunnel?"

"It gave my advisors apoplexy, but yes." You felt his lips curve into a smirk. "It was very satisfying."

"I can imagine. Ooh, and the bit with Dale was ingenious! Erebor doesn't accept any official blame for the damage Smaug caused but Dale still gets their share. Was it your idea?"

"Balin and I thought of it together." He slid you down his body until your feet touched the floor. "I owe you my thanks."

Reluctantly, you removed your hands from his neck and clasped them awkwardly behind your back. "No thanks necessary, I'm just happy it worked out. Does this mean you'll be less busy from now on?"

"Quite a bit less, I hope," he said. "Orcrist needs a good airing and I foresee excessive feasting now that Erebor's supplies are sure to be replenished soon."

"Are you looking forward to the feasting?"

"I am certain my nephews are. I do not miss the crowds. I will enjoy having time to call my own, though."

You nodded. He was always surrounded by people who wanted something from him. Solitude must sound like utter bliss. "I can imagine."

"I would wish to spend some of that time with you, if you are agreeable."

"I would enjoy that very much," you told him shyly.

"Then it is settled. Speaking of which, there is something I have been meaning to do for a while." He gave you sheepish smile, so unlike his self-assured demeanor that you came to attention. "I thought to wait, but I suppose now is as good a time as any."

You leaned forward curiously as Thorin drew a wrapped length of velvet and leather from the inside of his vest. He unfolded the protective cloth to reveal a necklace, sparkling topaz and diamonds flanking a huge, pale sapphire of extraordinary beauty.

You stared, utterly floored. "It's so beautiful," you whispered eventually.

"It's yours."

You tore your gaze from the brilliant sparkle of those magnificent gems. "But… I can't possibly accept this. "You thought again of the people surrounding him at every turn, courting his attention and his treasury. Did he think he had to deliver a steady stream of extravagant gifts in order to keep your friendship? You felt faintly nauseous at the thought. "It's too much. I mean it, Thorin. Clothes are one thing, but this is… It's too much," you finished helplessly. "I'm sorry."

Thorin swallowed. Then his face closed, smoothing over until no shred of emotion remained. "I see." He rewrapped the necklace and pocketed it with care, not looking at you.

Something was very wrong. You laid a tentative hand on his forearm. "I think I said something wrong, but I don't know what. I just want you to know that I am very glad for your friendship. I wouldn't want to jeopardize it for the world."

Thorin took your hand and gently removed it from his arm. You swallowed; a sick feeling blossomed in your stomach. "Can we talk about this? Please?"

He turned on his heel and left.

"Thorin!"

He didn't stop or turn around, just walked on with a heavy, measured step. Soon he turned the corner and was gone.

You leaned against the wall. The patterns on the elaborately carved ceiling blurred before your eyes.

You wanted to run after him, to scream, to smash something. But even though you were sick with misery, you knew Thorin well enough to understand that he wouldn't listen and he certainly wouldn't talk to you. Not while he was in this mood.

You would try again in the morning. If all else failed, you could always ask Balin to act as a go-between.

You straightened away from the wall and smoothed down your skirts. _Stop pining,_ you told yourself firmly. Thorin had a temper; that was fine. It was your fault you'd forgotten it, and it wasn't like he'd yelled at you. He'd just posted a large `don't touch´ sign, which was his prerogative. You'd always known he could be mercurial, so you needed to stop letting him turn you into a despondent mess every time he did something unpredictable.

Wiping your eyes with the back of your hand, you started on your way. It was late, and you had work to do.

                                                                                                 


* * *

 

A hammering at the door woke you from a restless slumber. You rubbed a hand over cheeks that were sticky with dried tears and traipsed to the door on bare feet. You opened it to find Dwalin glowering at you.

"What did you _do_!" he demanded.

You rubbed at your eyes, trying in vain to chase away the fog of your bleak dreams. "What do you mean?"

" _What did you do to Thorin?_ "

"N-nothing! Why? Has something happened to Thorin? Where is he?"

Dwalin just glared.

"Dwalin!"

A door opened down the hall. Bofur stuck his head out. "What's this infernal racket?"

Normally, you would have been amused to see that Bofur's sleeping cap was shaped exactly like his regular hat. Right now, though, your anxiety stifled any cheer you might have felt.

"Something happened with Thorin and Dwalin won't tell me what it is!"

Bofur turned to Dwalin. "I'm listening."

"He's turning the mountain upside down, that's what happened," grunted Dwalin. "He ordered punishment night drills at the wall. I nearly killed him sparring because he itched for a fight but his head was somewhere else, and now he's gone to inspect the forges."

"Bollocks," said Bofur, succinctly summing up your feelings.

Dwalin turned to stare at you. "He was here last. So I ask again, Y/N, what did you do?"

You swallowed down your panic. "I don't know."

"You can tell us what happened, Y/N," Bofur said gently. "We won't blame you."

"Speak for yerself!"

"Be quiet," Bofur snapped. "The sooner we get to the bottom of this, the better."

Your hands clenched as you remembered that sudden, awful emptiness on Thorin's face. "I really can't tell you much. Thorin came here, I congratulated him on the negotiations, he offered me a necklace—"

Dwalin held up a hand. "What do you mean, offered?"

"Well, obviously I didn't take it! It was much too extravagant."

"Who _does_ that?" Dwalin cried, at the same time that Bofur rubbed a hand across his face with a sigh of "Oh, Y/N…"

" _What?_ "

Dwalin shook his head back and forth in exasperation. "Refusing jewelry. Didn't your mother teach you any manners?"

You bristled. " _Excuse_ me? It' the height of bad manners to accept a completely outsized, ridiculously expensive gift! It's grasping and… and common!"

"Raised by wolves," Dwalin moaned.

"Remember, Dwalin, she's not from here. She can't be expected to know our ways, and as you can hear, her world is clearly mad."

"Clearly. Refusing jewelry!"

"Thorin made that necklace, Y/N," explained Bofur gently. "With topaz because it reminded him of your eyes, and diamonds for the stars that shone in the sky the night you came to us, and sapphires for the gate that brought you here. You did not refuse a necklace, you refused _him_."

You went numb. If Thorin had made that necklace himself, he would have had to begin the work months ago. He would have given up sleep or meals or both to carve out the time. Your eyes stung.

"I didn't know," you whispered. "I had no idea…"

"He began the work during his convalescence," Bofur said kindly, reading your thoughts.

Thorin had shown no interest in you for months, but he'd made you a magnificent necklace and expected you to understand what it meant. Were all men mad?

You realized you had spoken aloud when Bofur patted your shoulder. "Yes, Y/N, he made you a necklace instead of seeking you out. He's a male."

"The next time someone offers you jewels, you say thank you and take them," Dwalin grunted. "It's common sense."

"This place is crazy. How am I supposed to know these things? Why can't Thorin _talk_ to me like a normal person instead of expecting me to read his thoughts?"

"Common sense, Y/N," Dwalin reiterated.

You slammed the door in his face and went to get dressed. Minutes later you opened it again to bark at Dwalin. "Take me to Thorin."

"Y/N, perhaps you should wait until you're in a calmer frame of mind," Bofur advised.

You glared at him. "No. Take me to Thorin right _now_ , Dwalin."

Dwalin sized you up for a long moment. "He'll be back at the wall by now. Get yer coat," he finally said. "It's blasted cold out."


	5. Chapter 5

 

The stars glittered frostily in an inky night sky. In front of the gate, soldiers ran through axe drills in the frigid air while Thorin watched impassively from the wall, clad only in a thin tunic and trousers.

He must be freezing, you thought, and your heart went out to him.

Dwalin gave you a small nudge. "You can make him see reason. Just don't let him cow you."

You steeled yourself. "What about those poor guys?"

Dwalin favored the miserable crowd below with a perfunctory look and shrugged. "Them? Night drills in winter are good for the soul," he said, clearly unmoved.

You turned to him. "I thought you were angry at me because of the drills!"

"Nah. Thorin can be a right bastard but he's right, the soldiers were growing a tad too comfortable."

"But you nearly bit my head off!"

"Because it was your fault he lost control."

That was debatable in your opinion, but since debating Dwalin was like smashing your head repeatedly against a rock wall, you didn't even try.

"It's not what he did, it's why he did it, see?" Dwalin told you. "He punished them because he was furious, not because they're getting soft. He knows it too. See how he's dressed?"

You frowned at Thorin. As much as you loved him, he had a martyr complex the size of a Erebor, and a temper to match. You didn't relish the prospect of talking him down, if you even could, but you had to try before he froze to death.

You approached him slowly, your heart beating a frantic tattoo in your throat.

"Thorin?"

He did not turn around. "Go away."

You froze in your tracks, unsure what to do.

"Come now, Thorin," said Dwalin. "At least listen to what she has to say."

"I am not in the mood to listen to the maunderings of silly chits," Thorin said coldly. "Take her back to where you found her. And the next time you feel the need to intrude into my business, kindly restrain yourself."

Your fists clenched. This was Thorin at his worst, blind and deaf to anything but his own demons. You had never thought you'd see this side of Thorin again and your hackles rose in response. You welcomed the rush of righteous fury as adrenaline flooded you.

"Practicing our despotism, I see," you said in a rare show of sarcasm.

If glares could kill, his would have skewered you. "I do not recall asking for your opinion," he bit out.

Normally you would have shrunk away but the blood pounding in your ears erased your usual shyness. "I do not recall needing your permission to talk."

"This is Erebor. You need my permission to _breathe_."

Oh, wow. "Look at me, breathing all this time without permission." Holding his gaze, you deliberately sucked in a deep breath of the night air, suppressing a shiver when it chilled you all the way down. "Whatever will you _do_?"

You regretted the taunt as soon as it was out of your mouth. The chilly air had also cooled your flaring temper enough for you to remember that you hadn't come to argue, but it was too late.

Thorin's nostrils flared, lips firming in a cruel expression you remembered all to well. He took a step towards you, poised on the brink of what was sure to be a blistering response.

"Wait," you said.

He stopped.

"I'm sorry. I didn't come here to fight."

"We are not fighting," Thorin said, enunciating every word clearly. "Your poor attempts at provocation are a minor nuisance, nothing more. As are you."

His words cut you to the quick. You had to cling to the belief that he felt something, that he was lashing out because of hurt and not cruelty. "You must like being annoyed a great deal, then," you told him quietly. "That necklace was exquisite."

"A lapse in judgment that shall not be repeated."

You hadn't thought you could feel worse until he spoke. You cradled the pain to you, let it show in your eyes. You'd hurt him first, inadvertent as it had been. He needed to know he had that power over you as well. "I hope that's not true."

A glimmer of anger sparked in his expression, banishing some of the coldness. "Then you need to bury that hope, and quick. I will not be made a fool of a second time." He turned to Dwalin. "I weary of this. Get her out of here."

Dwalin crossed his arms over his chest.

"Dwalin, take her away right now or I swear—"

You closed the distance between you, ignoring all the signs why that was a bad idea. "Thorin, please."

He whirled around. "What."

"I didn't understand what you were asking, before. And I think you didn't understand what I was saying."

Thorin gritted his teeth. " _Dwalin_."

Dwalin took a step back. "I'm not here."

Thorin's chin lifted as he took a measured breath. "Y/N. I do not wish to speak to you. I do not know how to put it more plainly than that." His voice was even. "Please leave."

Pain stabbed your chest. He saw it, you knew he did, but he didn't look triumphant, just remote. Dwalin's look was one of pity.

For a second, you contemplated giving up. If he chose, Thorin could eviscerate you with just words. You didn't know how to close yourself off from him, didn't even know if you could.

_Don't let him chase you off._

No. You wouldn't give up like this. You hated fighting, but there were other ways of standing up for yourself than meeting anger with anger. If you had to make a fool of yourself to get through to him, it would be a small price to pay.

Setting your chin, you shrugged off your coat and threw your hat to the ground. The cold slapped you like an open palm, robbing you of breath.

Thorin took an instinctive step forward before he caught himself. His fists clenched.

You held his gaze as you unbuttoned your surcoat and shook it off, leaving you in your thin blue dress. If he could bear the cold, so could you. You'd bear a lot worse for him.

"I love you," you said simply, wondering if he would scoff at that, too. "If you still want me to leave after you hear me out, that's fine. But please, let me explain first."

A muscle jumped in his jaw. You stepped closer, ignoring the chill sinking into your bones. "My mother owned exactly three pieces of jewelry — her wedding ring, a thin gold necklace with a tiny cross, and a pair of pearl ear studs she brought out on special occasions. When you took out that necklace… I've never seen something like it up close in my life. In my world, it's the kind of jewelry worn by heads of state. It represents an obscene amount of wealth. I could never repay a gift like that. Even if I worked hard my whole life, all my earnings couldn't even hope to add to a gift of equal value."

You laid a hand on his forearm. Muscle like steel cable jumped beneath your touch. "I am desperately in love with you. I was devastated when I realized I hurt you. I didn't know, Thorin. You didn't say a word, just expected me to understand what you were offering. I want nothing more than to make it right, but I can't if you won't let me. If you return even a fraction of my feelings, you will give me a chance to make it up to you."

Thorin closed his eyes for a long moment. You took your hand away and waited, trembling with cold. When he opened them again his expression was still opaque, but without that remote quality. Wordlessly, he picked up your discarded coat and placed it around your shoulders.

"I see now," he finally said tonelessly. "I should have seen it then. You were trying to be noble."

You slumped in relief. "I was _trying_ not to be a grasping harpy. It would have been easier to just take it, you know. It's just… I never wanted this, _us_ , to be about what you can give me."

A glimmer of exasperation entered Thorin's shuttered gaze. His expression softened as he covered your shaking fingers with his own cool ones. "You do not understand your own worth," he murmured. "I am beginning to believe you never did."

"I'm not worth more than anybody else."

"You are to me," he said. "Exasperating little baggage."

"I wouldn't be so exasperating if you'd stop showering me with expensive gifts. Seriously, Thorin, I don't know how to deal with diamonds."

He brushed a kiss against the top of your head. "One day, I must teach you to see gems as we do." He took off one of his rings, set with a small sapphire, and placed it in your palm. "The first sapphire from a seam I discovered during my time in the mines." He took off another ring, this one set with a princess cut diamond. "The first diamond I cut on my own. I was overambitious and chose the wrong cut for the stone. This facet here is not quite right, see?" You didn't, but it didn't matter because you were finally starting to understand him. "That necklace is the work of my hands. I took time and care with it to show you I can take time and care with you. The stones are from my own stores, stones I mined as a young dwarf. The metal as well. No part of that necklace was ever bought or bartered for. It will never be sold. It was made for you; if you do not want it, nobody else shall ever wear it."

Love squeezed your chest like a fist. "I want it."

"Well then!" barked Dwalin. "Glad that's cleared up. Give her the bleedin' necklace, Thorin."

Thorin looked hunted for a moment. "I don't have it."

"I hope to Mahal you didn't chuck it over the parapet, or I'll have to kill ya."

Thorin didn't take his eyes off you. "No. It's it my quarters."

"That's all right then, so's a bed. Come on, time's a wastin'."

Holding hands, the pair of you meekly filed into Erebor, shooed all the way by Dwalin. 

Even though your heart was full to bursting, there was a certain absurd humor to the way Dwalin herded you impatiently towards home.

"Is this Dwalin's idea of matchmaking?" you whispered to Thorin. "It's very… forceful."

"I'm not certain. I have never seen him like this," Thorin whispered back.

"Quickly now, we don't have all night! A sound tuppin' should screw both yer heads back on right," Dwalin muttered under his breath.

"Does he think we can't hear him?" 

Thorin's lips twitched. "Truthfully? I do not think he cares."

Well, that did sound like Dwalin. With him hurrying the both of you along, it took no time at all for you to arrive at Thorin's quarters. A gentle push propelled you through the entrance into the sparsely lit interior. You turned around just in time to see the doors slam shut behind you, then you heard the unmistakable click of a lock tumbling shut. And then another. And another.

You gaped at the door. "He didn't."

Thorin rubbed a hand over his jaw, bemused. "I'm afraid he did." 

"Isn't that, like, treason or something?"

"Not if Dwalin does it."

"I see."

"I'd better hear more than chatter soon, or these doors won't open for a week!" Dwalin threatened.

You gasped. 

Thorin grinned. "You heard him, Y/N."

He looked so carefree, so different from his previous icy fury, that you found yourself wanting to smile along with him. You restrained yourself with difficulty, adopting a firm expression. "I'm not taking off one stitch of clothing as long as that overgrown lug is out there listening."

"Not even for your king?" Thorin inquired silkily.

You blushed. "No!"

Thorin's grin widened. "You heard her, Dwalin!" he bellowed. "My hands are tied."

"That's a right load of codswallop! Apply yourself! You can always lay her over your knee if all else fails."

You leaned into Thorin with a wry grimace. "He's a romantic, isn't he?"

"Oh, yes. The veriest sap." He slid his arms around your waist in a loose hold.

You leaned your forehead against his chest. "What now?"

"Leave us!" Thorin thundered suddenly, making you jump. "My queen won't perform for an audience!"

His queen? You felt lightheaded. It had been implied, given the necklace and all, but to hear it said out loud was another thing entirely.

"She's not yer queen yet, is she?"

"That's splitting hairs and you know it!"

"Hrmpf." Shuffling footfalls ensued, fading into the distance.

_Finally_.

You looked up at Thorin, suddenly shy. "Do you think anybody heard?"

"Everyone heard," Thorin said dryly. "And those who didn't will doubtless be told the tale in excruciating detail before morning."

You should have been mortified, but somehow you couldn't bring yourself to care. "The gossip is strong with the children of Durin."

"The very lifeblood of the mountain," Thorin agreed, rubbing your nose with his.

You exhaled a happy sigh. Then guilt intruded as you realized you had forgotten all about the poor sods freezing their asses off in night drills.

"Thorin... What about the fighters? At the gate?"

He stroked your hair, his hand settling proprietarily at the nape of your neck. "What about them?"

"It's freezing outside," you said. "Can't practice wait till morning? I saw Fili and Kili, they looked a little unhappy."

"Oh, I'm certain they are cursing my name to the heavens right now," Thorin said cheerfully. "You are sweet to care but they will be fine in the morning, and the better for it. Strength is forged in adversity."

Thorin's strength certainly had been forged by despair and fire, and the long, grinding purgatory of his grandfather's ill-fated campaign. You placed a hand on his broad chest and felt the pulsing life beneath the honed muscles. "I suppose. I wish it didn't have to be like that, though."

"It's the hard times that make one appreciate the simple comforts of home all the more. A soft, clean bed and a good meal."

You thought about sleeping in the mud as cold rain poured down from above, and your miserable, drafty broom closet. "I know. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. It's not like you don't know a thing or two about training warriors."

"Never hesitate to bring your concerns to me, sweetling. You are a good friend to my nephews and for that I am grateful."

You nodded, touched, and turned away to survey your surroundings.

Firelight mingled with a cold moonlit haze from a wide skylight in the ceiling, shrouding everything in dancing shadows. The light was sufficient to see that the layout of his chamber mirrored yours, though his was slightly larger and there was an arched doorway leading to an adjoining room. Sparsely decorated in muted shades of gray and tan, the main chamber felt austere rather than cozy, despite the massive bed at its center.

It was a warrior's room. Gleaming weapons were mounted on the wall for display and easy access. You recognized Orcrist and Deathless, Thorin's massive broadsword, recovered from the battlefield after the battle; two more swords, several axes and a few daggers with simple but elegant lines completed the collection. For the first time, it struck you how different the swords were. You'd never before thought what a skilled warrior Thorin must be, to switch at a moment's notice between a single-edged sword to a double edge or axe the way he did. His survival was a testament to his skill. Not for the first time, you wondered what someone like him wanted with you.

"I never thought I'd be here, you know. In your rooms."

"You wanted to be?"

Forcing yourself to tell the truth was hard, but he deserved nothing less. "Desperately."

"Could have fooled me. I have certainly never had to work as hard at something in my life," Thorin said dryly.

You gaped a little at the ludicrousness of that statement. "Except keeping your people together, building the settlement in Ered Luin and reclaiming Erebor, you mean? Or single-handedly turning the tide of the battle at Azanulbizar? I'm sure compared to all that, I'm a whopper of a challenge. I do talk to Balin, you know."

He smiled. "Balin exaggerates. If not for Dwalin's particular brand of matchmaking, we should still be tiptoeing around each other."

"Not entirely my fault, I think."

"No."

As you looked at each other, the undercurrent of desire that flowed so strongly between you flared to the surface. Thorin might have indulged you with easy banter while you accustomed yourself to your new surroundings, but the lambent hunger in his eyes was anything but easy.

You stroked his chest. "I'm here now."

He leaned forward. "So you are."

"And you're not busy for a change. So… Do you have to give me that necklace now, or can we get started?"

Thorin sniffed theatrically even as he pulled you closer. "Have a care, or you shall make me swoon with such ardent outpourings of sentiment."

You sent him a saucy glance through your lashes, though you ruined the effect by blushing. "For all you know I'm just trying to give you a reason to lay me over your knee."

Predictably, his eyes darkened. "Would you enjoy that?"

You pondered the question honestly for a minute. Your fevered imagination, ever ready to descend into the gutter, readily served up an image of you lying naked across Thorin's lap while he was still fully dressed.

You sighed. "With you, I just might."

You squeaked as Thorin lifted you into his arms without warning. He marched over to the bed and sat down, depositing you face-down across his lap. A large, broad hand settled firmly on your bottom and squeezed. A sound between a gasp and a moan escaped you.

"I didn't mean _now_ ," you protested breathlessly.

"No?" There was laughter in Thorin's voice, mingled with a thread of something darker.

"No," you breathed. Honestly, you weren't sure.

"A pity." You found yourself flipped around again as if you were a feather, and settled back on Thorin's lap — this time straddling him.

You blinked, utterly floored by his strength and more than a little aroused. "How did you do that?"

His eyes laughed at you. "You're lighter than Orcrist."

You wiggled a little, settling yourself more firmly in his lap. Your eyes widened. Thorin groaned.

"And you're _harder_ than Orcrist," you murmured, amazed. Your hips rolled forward of their own volition and you whimpered. "And possibly larger. Oh God."

"You will make me blush."

You shimmied closer, rendered dizzy by the feel of Thorin between your spread thighs. "You'll make me swoon." You took a deep breath, then another. More and you would be hyperventilating. "I can do this," you told yourself bracingly. "I can."

Thorin lifted you unceremoniously off his lap and stood up.

"Nothing has to happen tonight if you do not wish it," he said seriously. "You know this, don't you?"

You followed him, relieved when he gathered you against his side and kissed your hair. "I'm just a little overexcited. What brought this on? Don't you want to…"

A bark of laughter escaped him. "Oh, don't doubt for a moment that I want you. Too much." He leaned closer, inhaling in the scent of your hair, your skin. His voice descended into a growl. "Too hard. Too soon."

You had to clutch his waist for support, or you would have melted to the floor then and there. Thorin smoothed his hands down your arms, leaned his forehead against yours. "In truth, I do not fully trust myself. I have harbored the most depraved dreams… I do not wish to scare you."

You caught his face between your palms. "You couldn't. Thorin… I'll do whatever you want and _like_ it. That much I can promise."

"Anything?"

" _Anything_."

"You're certain of this."

You looked into his eyes and let him see how much you craved him. "Entirely."

Holding your gaze, he brought your clasped hands to his lips and, turning your hand palm up, pressed a butterfly-light kiss to your wrist. You bit your lip.

Thorin stepped closer. The sudden nearness was intoxicating. He pressed another small kiss to the base of your palm. Your skin tingled at the contact.

Carefully, he lowered your hand, but did not let go. Your fingers intertwined as his mouth moved to your cheek. He brushed the top of your cheekbone with dry lips, laid butterfly kisses on your forehead, your eyelashes, the feathery arch of one eyebrow. His beard feathered over your skin, leaving an electric trail. You sucked in a shivering breath.

You felt strained, brittle, like dry kindling stretching toward the flame that would consume it. Thorin drew back, eyes glinting like sapphire beneath half-lowered lids. "Is this what you want?"

His deep baritone thrummed through you. You ignited at the sound, heat licking your skin. You could feel your irises dilating with the force of your hunger, turning your eyes black.

You couldn't speak. You pushed up on tiptoe instead and pressed your lips to Thorin's bearded jaw, slid your open mouth down to his throat. This close, his scent hit you like a drug. You wanted to roll in it, imprint him on your skin. His head fell back. You grazed the taut muscle with your teeth, incoherent with want, and he groaned out an oath in Khuzdûl and pushed away from you.

"I _said_ ," he growled, "Is this what you want?"

You swallowed, feeling the absence of his touch like a physical ache. "Yes."

"You desire my touch," he clarified.

" _Yes_."

He started to circle you slowly, each step soft and measured, a tiger on the prowl. You turned your head to follow him. "Everywhere?"

"Yes!"

"Then undress," he said.

The stab of desire you felt at his words was so vicious, it nearly brought you to your knees. You licked your lips, shy and excited all at once. Suddenly the fabric of your dress felt rough and alien against your skin. "Okay," you whispered. "Okay."

You fumbled with the closure of your belt, hands trembling with excitement. The handsomely worked leather fell to the floor with a metallic clink.

"Now the tunic," Thorin commanded.

Slowly, you slid each button through its leather loop. With every undone button your breathing grew more labored. Finally you let the tunic pool at your feet and turned your attention to the dress. It laced at the front; you found the ends of the ribbon with fingers rendered clumsy by your growing anticipation, and tugged. When the loops unraveled you curled a finger underneath the laces to loosen them. The bodice fell open slightly.

You tugged harder. Fabric tore. 

Thorin stopped walking. You could feel him behind you, waiting.

You gave a slow shrug.

The dress slid off your right shoulder and you twisted slightly to slide down the sleeve the rest of the way, leaving one arm bare. A roll of your left shoulder disposed of the other sleeve, exposing the line of your bare back to the firelight and Thorin's gaze. His large hands settled lightly on your waist from behind. After one suspended moment they slid lower, down over your hips, dragging the crumpled fabric of your bodice with them.

The dress pooled around your feet, leaving you in your underwear and a pair of thigh-high, woollen stockings.

Thorin stepped back. "Stockings next," he said hoarsely.

You could feel his gaze on your back like a physical thing. You flexed one knee and bent down from the waist, displaying your heart-shaped bottom to him as you rolled down one stocking, then the next. Daintily stepping away from your discarded clothing, you turned to face him.

His eyes burned at you from a face cast in forbidding shadow. "Take off the rest."

Dizzy with desire, you reached behind you to unhook your bra and let it fall to the ground, then slid the panties down your legs and shook them off.

"Come here."

You obeyed.

Thorin let out a long, tortured breath. His hands settled on the swell of your hips. He kissed your temple, the crook of your neck. Then he reverently trailed his knuckles down the underside of one breast. His lips moved further down your chest as he kneeled before you. His mouth skimmed your ribcage and moved across your abdomen, down, down—

You stopped breathing.

Thorin leaned his forehead against your belly. His hands closed around your ankles in a loose hold and moved up in a smooth caress, coaxing your legs apart inch by delicious inch. He ran his knuckles along the insides of your thighs, then smoothed his thumbs over the vulnerable arch of your hipbone. Your hips gave an involuntary twitch; his thumbs slid lower, parting you, and then he tilted his head and licked a sure, wet path from your quivering opening to your clit.

You sobbed out a breath.

Thorin slanted his mouth over you more firmly. He grabbed your ass, shaping and kneading the resilient flesh as he feasted on you with every evidence of enjoyment. His beard rasped against the tender insides of your thighs in a maddening counterpoint to the slick glide of his tongue, setting your every nerve ending alight with sensation.

You clutched fistfuls of his hair as you ground yourself against that wicked mouth, forgetting your nakedness or anything resembling shame. You urged him on breathlessly, broken sounds of pleasure mingling with strangled pleas for more. Your world shrank to the feel of him between your legs, the desperate pressure gathering at your core. The muscles there tightened and quivered with spiralling tension as you strained fruitlessly towards a release that remained just out of reach.

Thorin seemed to sense your desperation, or perhaps you'd said something coherent amidst the litany of pleas and entreaties spilling from your lips. He sought out your entrance with a strong finger, releasing a groan when you clenched around him in a fierce grip, and pulled back slightly to flick his tongue over your clit in a maddening dance. Then suddenly his other hand slid to the base of your spine and slammed you against his mouth, hard.

You fell forward, your back curling over Thorin's dark head, and then a second finger joined the first, stretching you sharply; his jaw worked as he pressed the flat of his tongue against your open sex. For a moment you hovered on the brink, suspended, mouth opening in a silent scream; then you shattered.

Your head slammed back; your eyes widened sightlessly. You gasped, locked in a wrenching cycle of spasm and release and clutched Thorin desperately. It felt as if you might shake yourself apart, as if the very core of you was burning away, guttering along with the sparks that danced across your vision.

Eons later you slumped forward, spent. Thorin caught you, lifted you into his arms as if you weighed nothing. The heated skin of your back met cool linen as he laid you on the bed and covered you with his body, supporting himself on his forearms so as not to crush you. 

Still trembling with lingering aftershocks, you whined a protest as the cold metal of his belt buckle bit into your heated skin. Thorin lifted his hips immediately, disposing of the offending belt with a few short, impatient motions. Then he lowered himself over you again.

Your faculties were slowly returning, and with them your powers of observation.

You were naked before Thorin in every way possible while he was still fully dressed, his face set in harsh, forbidding lines. The rough fabric of his trousers abraded your bare thighs, his cloth-covered erection an insistent weight against your tender sex. He would have been thoroughly intimidating if not for that beautiful, firm mouth, still painted with your juices. Wonderingly, you ran your thumb over his lower lip, coating it in moisture, then sucked it between your lips. Thorin groaned.

Lambent desire burst into full flame with a suddenness that left you breathless. Suddenly you needed to touch him, and you needed to do it now. You slid a hand between your bodies to cup him firmly, wrenching another throttled groan from him. He caught your wrist.

"Let me," you pleaded.

Thorin watched you through hooded eyes for a moment, then released your hand to roam where it would.

The closure of his trousers soon fell open beneath your determined fingers. His cock pushed into your hand and you squeezed instinctively.

"Ah, Mahal." Thorin's head fell forward and his hair spilled across your shoulders and chest. He felt heavy in your hand, swollen to steel hardness and so thick your fingers couldn't hope to meet. You shifted your grip, running your palm over the slick head then sliding back down his length. He bucked into your slippery grip and you watched him greedily as you pumped, growing more aroused with every pass of your hand, every strangled sound that escaped him.

Needing to pleasure him more, you twisted your grip on the way down and ran the thumb over the sleek head on the next pass. His cock twitched and he cursed, throwing his head back. His throat worked helplessly. You repeated the motion, caught in a haze of desire so strong, you barely knew what you were doing. You felt drunk. He was so gorgeous like this, so impossibly tempting.

There was a hollow ache inside you, sharpening with each passing moment. Your hips lifted, straining towards him, and you rubbed the head of his cock against your slit with a low whine, eyes squeezing shut with frustration. 

"So lovely," Thorin rasped. You opened your eyes. The expression on his face was one of wonder mingled with a naked need that was surely mirrored in your own features. You let go of him to tug at the hem of his tunic, desperate to feel his skin against yours. He shifted sideways to aid you, dragging the garment over his head and down his arm in one impatient move.

Moments later he had discarded his trousers as well. He wore nothing underneath. Your mouth went dry at the sight of that magnificent, scarred body, gleaming with a light sheen of sweat in the firelight. You splayed your hands over his chest, barely believing that you were finally allowed to touch him without restraint. His skin was on fire, smooth satin over steel, his massive chest covered in a feathering of soft, dark hair that trailed down to a narrow line. He watched through half-lidded eyes as you mapped him with your hands; the hard, pronounced ridges of his abdomen, the rippling muscle over his ribs, the powerful swell of his pectorals. You pressed yourself up to run your mouth along the shallow indentation where his chest flowed into his shoulder, then back along the tense line of his neck.

You barely knew what you were doing. You were drunk on the look in his eyes, caught on the brink between plea and command, the shallow breaths escaping his parted lips. Your hands came up to shape his vulnerable throat.

Thorin’s control snapped.

His arms tightened around you as his body surged forward, all that delicious, muscled weight slamming into you, pinning you to the bed. His hands closed around your wrists, lifting them high above your head. Your breath quickened in time with your frenetic heartbeat as Thorin stared into your eyes with an intensity you'd only seen in battle. He was breathing hard, his own eyes black with need.

"Th- Thorin!" you whimpered. 

"Tell me what you want," he growled. " _Say_ it."

You tried to think through the haze of lust. What did he want from you? Was he… Was he waiting for _permission_? Stupid, beautiful king. Didn't he know—

"I need you inside me," you begged.

His mouth crashed into yours, swallowing whatever else you might have said. He kissed you with barely leashed ferocity. You kissed him right back, nibbling at his lips, tangling your tongue with his. A trace of your own flavor lingered on his lips and you chased it with a fervor bordering on desperation. You couldn't get enough of his taste, the harsh, guttural sounds escaping him as he devoured you like a starved man. You writhed beneath him, spreading your legs wider and tilting up your hips to grind yourself against his arousal.

Tearing his mouth away from yours, Thorin transferred both your wrists to a one-handed grip and slid a hand between your bodies to guide himself in. The head of his cock nudged your opening, impossibly wide. You lifted your hips, not caring that it might hurt, not caring that he was so thick he might stretch you beyond bearing. He slid inside a fraction and you gasped against his neck at the sharp sting.

"Wait," Thorin grunted. "Mahal, you're tight."

"No," you muttered mulishly. You could take him. You _could_. You snapped your hips up again and he slid inside a little more. Tears stung your eyes.

He hissed. "I said wait," he repeated harshly, then brushed his mouth over your cheek. "So impatient…"

"I want you! I don't care if it hurts, I _don't_ …"

"And I you. But I won't hurt you and I will not let you hurt yourself." Bending his head, he rubbed his chin lovingly over the underside of one breast. "I have neglected these," he murmured. His lips closed lightly around the tip and tugged.

Heat flooded your core. Some of the clenching pressure eased. Thorin flicked his tongue over the tight nub, then bit down lightly. You cried out, softening further.

He hooked a hand behind your knee and lifted your leg up around his waist. The shift caused him to brush against a sensitive spot just inside your opening; the delicate tissues clenched around him with a ripple, drawing him forward another inch. The pain melted away, replaced by a feeling of desperate fullness.

Thorin licked a path from the tip of your breast to your throat. Then he bit sharply at the join of your neck and shoulder. Your back arched off the bed. He licked the spot, smoothing away the sting, and angled his head to nibble at your jaw.

"You are so wet," he murmured, rocking forward in maddening increments until suddenly he was in all the way. He stopped then, pinning your hips to the mattress with his weight, and scattered small kisses across your face and throat. You were crammed full, limbs humming with an odd, electric restlessness. If any discomfort remained, it was utterly drowned out by that tinglingimpatience.

You slid your arms around his waist. "Please," you begged. "Please move."

"Are your certain?"

You shimmied a little and were rewarded with a searing wash of pleasure. "Yes. Oh, Thorin, I can't stand it…"

Thorin started to rock, imperceptibly at first, then more firmly. Soon, he was moving in long, measured digs. At the end of every pass the base of his cock ground against you, scattering stars across your vision.

You sighed. You purred. You whimpered.

He tangled his fingers in your hair and buried his face against your neck. "Like this. Speak to me like this," he muttered thickly into your shoulder.

His ragged breath against your skin contrasted sharply with the iron control guiding each steady thrust. Instinctively matching his rhythm, you abandoned yourself utterly to him, to the sharp delight that coursed through you, ratcheting higher with every deep stroke.

Your world shrank to Thorin, so strong and sure inside you, his deep voice in your ear harsh with arousal. There was no stopping now, just a slow, steady, utterly inevitable rise. You cried out as the tension crested and broke, arching off the bed. Pleasure scalded you in heaving ripples, too consuming to contain or comprehend. It ebbed slowly, reluctantly, and then Thorin slid a hand up your leg and spread you wide open, flicked his thumb impatiently across your bud. Your fading climax swelled anew, sharper now, pulling you under until you were drowning in sweet, fiery darkness. You clung blindly to Thorin; at last his hips stuttered and then he, too, was coming in great, wrenching spasms, a harsh groan guttering in his throat like a candle flame in a storm.

For a small eternity you soared, weightless. When you returned to your senses, your noodle-like limbs were spread out in a careless sprawl; above you, Thorin was just as relaxed, any trace of tension gone from his body for once. The air felt pleasantly cool on your damp skin. As much as you enjoyed feeling his body on top of you, Thorin was getting heavy.

He must have noticed; he rolled off you with a grunt, then gathered you against his side. You shared a languid, openmouthed kiss, breath mingling. Faint desire stirred again. You tamped it down and curled closer into Thorin's embrace, sighing when his arms wrapped around you.

He seemed to know exactly what you needed. He cradled you close, lavishing you with gentle kisses and slow caresses, which you drowsily returned. He had such excellent control over those warrior's hands that even the most innocent of touches never failed to gain a reaction.

You breathed a sigh against his lips. "How are you so perfect?"

Thorin pulled back to look at you. His eyebrow rose.

You blinked at him.

His expression turned incredulous. "You are _serious_."

You caressed his jaw, filled with delight at the thought that you could touch him as often as you wanted, now. "You sound surprised."

"I thought you were mocking me." He nuzzled your nose with his, then broke into a wide grin. "Love, you have just handed me the one weapon all males covet. Now I know that I can employ lovemaking to make you forget my transgressions, you shall never leave this bed again."

You nipped his chin, thoroughly distracted by the exuberant joy in that grin. "Transgressions?"

"I was an utter arse to you not one hour ago," he said dryly. "Do not tell me you have already forgotten."

That fight seemed so far away now, it was nothing but a hazy dream. "Honestly? Yes."

Thorin shook his head in disbelief and hugged you close. "You are truly a jewel among women and I do not deserve you."

You wriggled closer still, exhaling a content sigh. "You have me anyway."

"And I am yours. With all that entails, poor girl."

Your nose wrinkled impishly. "A mountain and paperwork?"

He huffed out a surprised laugh. "That about sums it up."

"I guess it's good that you're so amazing in bed then."

You might have made a joke of it, but you wanted him again already — deeper and stronger than before, now that you knew what you had been missing in all those months of unfulfilled yearning. Before Thorin you had been mildly interested in sex, but nothing like this all-consuming craving. Judging by your prior experience with men, such as it was, you had expected to have sex once, maybe cuddle a little if he was so inclined, and fall asleep. It was more than you'd ever expected to have with Thorin, and it had seemed enough until about ten minutes ago.

Now you realized that going to sleep now would be like coming across the most decadent chocolate cake after years of abstinence and stopping after one spoonful. It just wasn't going to happen.

Linking your arms around his neck, you crushed your lips to his in a fervent kiss. He indulged you happily, gradually softening the kiss to licks and soft bites.

You nipped his lower lip and hooked a leg around his hip, drawing a twitch of interest from his hardening cock and a groan from him. "We're not going to sleep tonight, are we?"

Thorin laughed and rolled onto his back, taking you with him. "Did you think we were? Oh, my love. You are adorable."

You cocked your head at him, unoffended. Sitting astride him, your aroused king trapped between your legs, more or less at your mercy… The possibilities were endless. And he was lovely spread out beneath you like a feast to all your senses, studying you out of hooded eyes. A faint flush darkened his high cheekbones and you bit your lip as you contemplated the mouthwatering sight. Whatever should you do first? Touch? Taste? Ride him?

Reading your indecision, Thorin smiled up at you. "There is nothing you can do that I will not enjoy," he said, echoing your earlier words. His voice had gone deep and rough with anticipation, and it stirred you like nothing else could. Suddenly you knew what you wanted to do.

You crawled down his body, settling yourself comfortably between his legs. Then you ran a finger along his thick length before grasping him firmly.

Thorin swallowed back a moan. He was fully hard now, and hot enough to sear your fingers. You met his gaze and held it as you placed a delicate kiss to the blunt head. Your loose hair spilled across his belly and thighs.

"Tell me what you like," you said, and lowered your head. 


	6. Chapter 6

 

Rosy morning sunlight filtered through the skylight in Thorin's bedroom. It illuminated the bed, which looked like a battlefield. It also warmed your neck, which was bowed in abject defeat.

"You must be ticklish somewhere!" you exclaimed, exasperated.

"I'm afraid not." Thorin lay propped against the headboard, arms behind his head as you twiddled your fingers against his exposed side. He smiled indulgently.

You would not give up so easily. "Everybody is ticklish somewhere!"

"I am not." He grinned, a sudden flash of white teeth. "Whereas you are ticklish _everywhere_."

You squealed when he pounced, rolling you beneath him and tickling your ribs until you screamed with laughter.

"Stop!" you cried through helpless giggles. "T-that's unfair! S-stop!"

He subsided. "Turnabout's fair play."

You looked up into his smug face and slapped his shoulder.

"What turnabout? I didn't get a turn! You just lie there like a hunk of stone and grin at me!"

"Perhaps you are not doing it correctly, then," he pointed out, still smug. "Would you like to try again?"

He drew a slow, suggestive swirl over your belly. An ember of heat kindled in the wake of his touch.

You slid your arms around his neck. "Later. When you least expect it."

Thorin lowered his hips. You softened beneath him with a welcoming sigh.

"Don't think I'm giving up, though. Because I'm not."

He smiled against your mouth. "I am counting on it."

 

* * *

You flopped onto your back, boneless. "That was amazing."

"You will hear no argument from me."

"How does it keep getting better? I'll be dead in a week if this keeps up. Also, has anybody ever told you that you have no shame whatsoever? It's very hard to hold on to my maidenly restraint with you corrupting me like that."

Thorin lifted himself up on an elbow to look at you. "Do your people impose restrictions on bedsport?"

"Dwarves don't?"

"Of course not. Why would they?"

You rolled onto your side. "That explains a lot."

Thorin caressed your hip. "I am warning you now that I will strive to corrupt you further. The results are exceedingly pleasing."

"I'm not complaining. But we can't go another round right now, or I won't be able to walk today."

Thorin suppressed his proud smirk with an effort. "I apologize for the soreness I caused you."

"You don't look very apologetic."

He forced his lips into a straight line and adopted a pious expression. "Better?"

"Not really."

He shifted his expression again into a puppy dog look that would have been at home on Kili's face. On him, it looked ridiculous.

"And now?"

"Stop it or you will feel my wrath." you announced dramatically.

He leaned closer. "Now I am intrigued."

"I'm warning you. It will be terrible."

Thorin's eyes widened. "Will you withhold intercourse? If so, I will repent immediately. I am repenting this very moment."

You took a pillow and hit him with it. "Please don't call it intercourse. And I will not stop sleeping with you just because you're being smug."

Thorin blinked. "If you were aiming for corporal punishment, allow me to tell you that this is not it," he said helpfully. "I am told the average dwarrowdam likes to use a willow switch, two feet long and about this thick." He held his fingers apart to indicate.

You hid your face in your hands. "Oh my god, I married a Klingon."

"Pardon me?"

"I will not be hitting you! Ever!"

"You just did. I was merely pointing out that—"

"With a pillow! I hit you with a _pillow_."

Thorin looked nonplussed.

"As in pillow fight?" you explained. And then, as he continued to look puzzled: "You have siblings! Did you never—"

Too late, you remembered that one of those siblings was dead. Thorin did not seem to mind your slip, though.

"Not with such paltry weapons." he said haughtily. "This is meant to be an exchange, then? Your customs are rather quaint."

"… says Mr. Willow Switch."

"I would rather not strike you at all."

You rolled to your knees. "You didn't mind tickling me, if I recall correctly. It's a pillow fight not a sword duel to the death. It's supposed to be fun."

Thorin shrugged and picked up a pillow. "As my lady commands. On your mark."

You rolled your eyes and smacked his shoulder with your pillow.

Thorin hit you back.

"Ow!" It smarted quite a bit. You rubbed your head and pouted at him.

He raised an eyebrow. "You duck _very_ slowly for someone so eager to fight."

" _Pretend_ fight!" you protested. "This isn't about giving each other a concussion."

"I did not hit you that hard."

"... No. But you're not supposed to hit hard at all."

"My apologies. Even though I could hardly be expected to know that you duck so glacially slow. Perhaps someone with your reflexes should not pick fights at all, hmm?"

"Maybe my reflexes are slow because I'm _exhausted_. Someone kept me awake all night."

"Was that a complaint?"

You shook your head and tackled him to the bed. He was a fast learner — he let you.

You kissed the tip of his royal nose. "There will be no complaining about that. Ever. But do you think we could sleep? Just a little?"

Thorin tugged you into his arms and pulled the duvet over you both. "We have another hour," he said. "Council will be in session by noon, and I would like you to attend as my guest."

You nodded through the fog of descending sleep.

                                                                                                     


* * *

  

It was amazing what an hour of sleep and a quick soak in Thorin's private hot spring could do. You were floating on a cloud of endorphins as you left Thorin's quarters to get dressed appropriately for the council meeting.

Thorin had kissed you in parting — a deep, take-no-prisoners kiss that would have coaxed you straight back to bed if not for the time constraints and the pronounced twinge between your legs. And yet you could not stop picturing that kiss as you padded back to your room. He was so masterful. So strong, and sexy and…

A pointed cough tore you from your daydream. You looked up and saw Kili. He was leaning against the wall with a leering grin.

You sighed. Of course the hallway of eternal embarrassment would be occupied… of course. 

Kili waggled his eyebrows suggestively at you. "Good _morning_." he said, heaping as much innuendo into those two innocent words as he could.

He looked tired and you wondered whether he had been standing there all night just so he could do this.

"Have you been standing here all night?"

"Nooo. At first I was busy getting some unexpected exercise, if you recall. Imagine my surprise when I saw the most _interesting_ scene unfolding on the battlements! And once I returned…" He grinned and pointed at the door right next to Thorin's. "I didn't have to."

You blushed before you remembered just how thick the walls were. Curse your easily flustered nature! He was just angling. He couldn't possibly know anything.

"You look lovely this morning, Y/N," he said. "Very soft and satisfied. Your hair is particularly fetching."

Your hair was a tangled cloud around your shoulders, thanks to Thorin's fingers.

"I would thank you not to comment on my intended's charms." said Thorin dryly from behind you.

You whirled around to see him leaning in the open door with no shirt on. You blushed again, harder.

His eyes softened. A small smile curled his lips.

You smiled back, utterly besotted.

"It's not her charms I'm interested in," said Kili. "Forgive me if I want to get the best gossip before Dwalin, of all people! He preempted me twice this week and he doesn't event try! It's disgusting."

"While you try a little too hard," Thorin said repressively. He joined you and touched your elbow. "Come, love. It appears you require an escort if you are to reach your chambers unmolested."

A door opened a little further down the hall.

Bofur looked you up and down. "Oh my," he said, covering a grin with his hand.

"That's quite enough of that," said Thorin.

The next door opened, disgorging a familiar bald-headed giant in full gear. Did Dwalin even undress before he went to bed?

Balin peeked out next. Unlike his brother, he had a serious case of bed-head and worea velvet dressing gown.

"Don't you two look mellow," said Dwalin with satisfaction. "Sleep well, did you?"

"Well enough." you said airily. Your cheeks felt very hot.

"No need to blush so, lass," said Balin kindly. "Lovemaking is a beautiful, natural thing."

"Thank you, Balin."

"So you did do it!" exclaimed Kili. "Finally!"

He leaned forward. "I hope Uncle made the line of Durin proud. To be honest, I would have expected to hear a little more."

"Nah, the walls are too thick," said Dwalin dismissively, at the same time that Thorin abandoned you to take his nephew into a headlock. It was very casually done, and you had to admit that it was kind of hot how easily Thorin could subdue a strong warrior like his nephew. It would have looked nearly affectionate if not for the way Kili was flopping about.

Fili left his bedroom to see what the commotion was about, saw his brother being choked by Thorin, and leaned against the wall to watch.

"What I have forgotten about bedsport you have yet to learn." Thorin said silkily as Kili gasped for air.

"Oh my god, don't encourage him!" you hissed. "And let go of him please, he's turning blue."

Thorin complied with a shrug. Kili stumbled away, glaring at his brother.

"Not all women are loud, m'lad." sighed Balin.

"Yes, but if you've a glass pressed against the door they don't have to be, do they," said Fili dryly.

Kili gasped, betrayed. "You're not supposed to tell anyone about that!"

Fili shrugged.

"You're just jealous I didn't let you have a turn!"

Fili gave his brother a superior smile. "And you are simply huffy that you didn't hold out longer now that you know for sure they did it. Perhaps she did scream later and you weren't _there_. That glass didn't do you a lot of good through the wall, did it."

"I will kill you."

"You'll try."

"It's not the walls, it's the wall hangings," said Dori sagely. You hadn't heard him come out. "Swallow sound something fierce. Especially those nubby ones Thorin has."

You elbowed Thorin. "Do you think they'll notice if we just sneak away?"

"Probably not."

 

* * *

                                                                                                   


You slammed the door to your room shut and leaned against it with a relieved sigh.

Thorin raised an amused eyebrow.

"I do love them, but they can be a bit much sometimes," you said. "Will you help me get dressed? I have no idea what to wear to a council meeting."

He grinned. "I live to serve."

"Somehow I doubt that."

He pressed a hand to his heart. "You wound me, my lady."

Thorin was nothing if not efficient. It took him all of two minutes to extract a red dress from your chest. It was a bit too richly embellished for your taste and the color was the exact shade of fresh blood.

"This one." he said decisively.

"Isn't it a bit too Lady Macbeth for a morning session?"

"The color suits you beautifully," he said. "And who is Lady Macbeth?"

Thorin laughed when you finished explaining. "Love, that describes every dwarrowdam if one disregards the guilt and kingslaying. There is nothing wrong with a little ambition. Besides, the color makes you appear confident, not murderous."

You pulled the dress on under Thorin's heated gaze and executed a slow turn in front of the mirror. He has been right — the deep red color _was_ beautiful on you. It coaxed out pretty garnet highlights in your hair and eyes. It would also accentuate even the slightest blush, which was bound to be a problem.

"I don't feel too confident. I'm afraid I'll embarrass you."

"You could never do that." He extracted several glittering hair clasps from his pocket. "May I?"

You nodded. Thorin braided a tight crown into your hair and secured it at the back of your head with the clasps, leaving half of your hair down to spill down your back.

He surveyed his work with blatant satisfaction. "Beautiful."

"Is there a message hidden in this?" you asked. "The braid or those hair beads?"

He brushed an errant curl behind your ear. "No. I merely thought it would look beautiful on you, which it does."

"Are there any special hairstyles like that?"

"Yes. They take considerably more time to construct and the ceremony is an involved and private one."

You considered that. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"Possibly?"

"Because I'm thinking that it takes longer to braid because the couple keeps having sex in between and messing it up?"

"That description disregards the deep meaning and poetry inherent in the ceremony," Thorin said solemnly. His eyes were twinkling.

"But I'm right?"

"Yes."

You hid your face against his chest. "I can't _wait_ until we're officially betrothed."

"I will announce my intention to wed you to the council today."

"Will that be a problem?"

"No. There are dissenters, but none of them have been bold enough to oppose me openly so far." He stroked your back. "Today is for you to observe the council at your leisure. You have nothing to fear from those old fossils, I promise you."

You certainly hoped so.

                                                                                         


* * *

The first thing you noticed in the council chamber was the lavish food arranged across several tables. The second thing was the large number of empty chairs around the main table. Only members of the company seemed to be present, all of them industriously eating.

"Politics makes me peckish," Bofur said in response to your questioning glance. "And in a pinch, there's something to throw right at hand."

It was a _really_ nice spread. Your stomach growled.

Bofur grinned toothily. "Help yourself, m'dear."

Thorin pointed out the nicest bits for you to try and helped you back to the table after heaping a mountain of food on his own platter. He even held out your chair for you.

"If you start feeding each other I'm outta here…" Dwalin said.

"We wouldn't," you lied.

"Don't be such a grump, brother," said Balin. "Enjoy the results of your efforts."

Kili's eyes narrowed slyly. "Indeed! Dwalin, you should think about offering your matchmaking services for sale. You could make a pretty penny on the side."

"Oh, I can see it now!" Bofur interjected. "You can put up signs! 'Are you being driven mad by star-crossed lovers? Summon Dwalin, he'll set them straight for a reasonable fee!'"

"As if I'm keen on dealing with more reticent sapskulls," Dwalin grumbled. "Besides, what am I supposed to do with more gold?"

Dori gasped. "Mahal save you, Dwalin Fundinsson! That's an undwarfish sentiment if I've ever heard one!"

You dug into your food.

The double doors to the chambers slammed open, admitting Glóin, Ori and Óin.

"Good morning!" bellowed Óin.

"G'morning." you and Thorin said in unison.

Glóin took one look at the two of you and started beaming.

"So you finally made this lovely young lady your own? Congratulations, congratulations to you both!"

Thorin winced.

You leaned over, perplexed. "However can he _tell_?" you whispered.

"Ah, lass, there's only one thing that puts that look in a dwarf's eyes, like he doesna have a care in the world. Especially if he's a king." Glóin clapped Thorin on the shoulder. "You should grow your beard longer now, lad. A lady needs something to hold on to when the waves get choppy on the seas of love, if you take my meaning." He winked.

Thorin glanced at you, raising his eyebrow in inquiry. You shook your head.

You had stopped praying the earth would open up and swallow you half an hour ago. You couldn't even muster a blush.

Undeterred, Thorin mimed stroking a luxurious forked beard and raised that obnoxious eyebrow again. As if you would ever like anything that obscured so much of his magnificent chest.

You narrowed your eyes at him and made a slicing motion across your throat — whether to indicate that you would kill him or yourself if he went through with it, you weren't sure.

Since Thorin still looked like he was seriously contemplating it, you twirled a lock of hair around your finger and then tugged to indicate that you could hold on to his hair if you had to, thank you very much. There was absolutely no need to grow a horrible beard.

Thorin burst out laughing.

"See?" Glóin boomed. "Happy times, these. What's for breakfast?"

 

* * *

                                                                                                   


After a leisurely breakfast with the Company, the council dwarves began to file in. Thorin had not been joking when he called them fossils. Some of them looked half calcified. The few younger ones looked shifty.

Pleasantries were exchanged. A lengthy discussion of interior Erebor matters followed, mostly consisting of the council members fighting over a larger piece of the pie for their respective factions while Thorin watched them, stony-faced.

Despite your best intentions, you had nearly fallen asleep when Thorin took advantage of a lull in the bickering to announce his intention to marry you.

"This is lovely news, my liege," said Balin. He received several dirty looks.

"Isn't it, though…" Dwalin murmured, stroking his axe.

"The best!" one dwarf said, insincerely. The rest of the council were visibly trying to regroup. In the silence, the scritch of Ori's pen seemed unnaturally loud.

Eventually, a corpulent dwarf leaned forward with an ingratiating smile. He had a small head with tiny eyes and a pinched mouth; lavishly beringed hands flashed and sparked under the overhead lights as he gestured.

"You have yet to mention the lady's betrothal gift, my king…" he said. "A paltry oversight, to be sure."

Nobody had told you anything about a betrothal gift. Was that like a dowry? It must be.

Your hands turned cold.

"My lady's contribution to the reclaiming of Erebor is more than sufficient as a betrothal gift, Master Yngví." Thorin said.

"I'm sure, I'm sure. What was the lady's contribution again, exactly? I am but a forgetful old dwarf."

An old viper, more likely.

"The lady was part of the Company that reclaimed the mountain against odds an army from the Iron Hills was not prepared to brave. Surely that is accomplishment enough even for your discerning self, Master Yngví?" said Balin.

"Oh, I am certain she was quite instrumental inmaintaining, uhm, _morale_. Keeping the Company's spirits up and all that. Worthy work, no doubt, but perhaps not the right qualification for a queen?"

Ori gasped. His quill fell to the table with a clatter.

_Oi!_ you thought. _Not a camp follower, bulldog face._

Glóin lunged across the table. Dwalin jerked him back by the scruff of his tunic.

Thorin merely leaned back in his chair, which suddenly looked a lot more like a throne than it had a moment before.

"Please," he drawled lazily. "By all means, continue."

Yngví steepled his fat fingers. For someone who had just insinuated that the king's intended was a camp-following prostitute, he was remarkably unruffled by the icy menace that radiated from his king. Either he was stupid or extremely influential if he dared to say those kinds of things to Thorin's face without fear of repercussion.

On the other hand, you had seen Thorin in hopeless situations, and he did not look trapped now. His expression was that of a great cat who was playing with his food.

_Well then._ You thought hard. Something must have weakened Yngví's position, and he clearly didn't yet know about it, or he wouldn't risk opposing the king's choice so openly.

There was only one thing he council wouldn't yet know about in full: the agreement with Thranduil.

You caught Bofur's eye. _Mirkwood?_ you mouthed, glancing at Yngví.

A broad grin split Bofur's face. He nodded.

_Ah_. So that was it. Yngví must have significant trade connections which he had brought to Erebor. As long as the Forest Road was closed, those connections would have been important enough to wrench all sorts of concessions from Thorin. Maybe he wasn't completely unimportant — not yet — but he was no longer indispensable either. And now he was trying to mess with Thorin's happiness just because it didn't fit his narrow view of the world.

You wanted to reach down his throat and tear out his still-beating heart. Instead, you turned an insipid smile on him as he proceeded to explain your shortcomings.

"Well, correct me if I am mistaken," he began with an unctuous smile, "but the lady is not a warrior. She is not titled, rich, or a skilled craftsperson. Her fitness in carrying heirs has yet to be determined. Because of that, many will rightly ask what she contributes to the throne and to Erebor."

"I was not aware that anyone had a say in the king's choice of consort aside from the king himself." Balin interjected.

"Forgive me for saying so, Master Balin, but the king's ancestors selected their consorts shrewdly. As such, there was no need to interfere. These are not my personal sentiments by any means, my liege. I am merely a lowly messenger."

Some of the other councilmen grumbled their assent.

You cleared your throat delicately even though inside you were trembling with rage and fear. "If I may…"

Thorin nodded his permission. He did not smile, but his eyes softened infinitesimally as he glanced your way.

The table quieted as all eyes turned to you. You offered Master Yngví a saccharine smile.

"You are correct — I am no fighter. I am not surprised that a warrior of your renown was able to discern this right away."

Yngví grimaced in an approximation of a smile. "I am not a warrior, dear lady."

You batted your eyelashes at him. "Oh, a craftsman then!"

"Not a craftsman either, dear lady."

Two of the other councilmen broke out in very particular, thin smiles and began watching you with a new appreciation.

"My mistake. Perhaps a miner?" You looked at him expectantly.

Yngví puffed himself up. "I am a merchant by trade, and very successful if I say so myself."

You nodded sagely. "I see, I see. An honorable profession, certainly. You must be able to recognize the good work of others and sell it for a premium. I can imagine you had a difficult start in life, having no skills of your own to get on with."

"I am glad to say that I inherited the business from my esteemed forefathers…" Yngví bit out. His smile had turned into a frozen rictus.

Thorin rested his chin on his hand, looking attentive and altogether neutral.

You nodded. "That is fortunate indeed! I barely dare to imagine how you would have fared otherwise."

"I took the great risk of relocating my business to Erebor because I believe in the king." Yngví bit out stiffly.

"In that way I feel a strong kinship with you, Master Yngví," you said. "While I did not make my way to Erebor in the comfort of an armored caravan surrounded by armed troops," you continued, ignoring the ensuing titters and Yngví's violent flush, "my presence here proves that I do share your belief in the king. It is the reason I refused Lord Elrond's invitation to remain in Rivendell even though the alternative was nearly certain death at the hands of Azog."

"Why would Lord Elrond…?" Yngví broke off, horrified that he had ceded the conversational lead even for a moment.

You smiled again. "Why would he offer an invitation to an unremarkable human? I'm glad you asked. Same as yourself, I have few personal skills to speak of, at least not in a sense that Dwarven society would recognize. I do, however, hail from a world beyond the stars, and as such I have a wealth of knowledge that is unequalled in Middle Earth. I have chosen to place it solely in the service of your king." You inclined your head towards Thorin.

He nodded back, slowly. His eyes were burning with pride.

"Do you truly mean to tell us that you fell from the skies? That tale might have been enough to placate the rabble, but you can hardly expect us to believe it!"

"And yet I saw it with my own eyes," Thorin said mildly. "Are you calling me a liar, Master Yngví?"

"Yes, Yngví," growled Dwalin. " _Are_ you?"

"No! But surely you can see—"

"Our world has known greater magic than this in its infancy," said Balin. "I saw it as well, though if you possess the audacity to doubt the king's word, surely my own meager reassurances will hardly make a dent in your convictions."

Yngví turned to you. "I resent being made to look the villain when I merely utter what my brethren think. Your bravery may not be question, my lady. However, bravery alone is not enough to make you deserving of a place at the king's side."

"I happen to agree with you there, Master Yngví," you said good-naturedly. "But if the king may only have his choice of those ladies who deserve him, I'm afraid he will remain unwed until his dying day." You looked fondly at Thorin.

Tittering ensued.

"His choice of bride is in question. Pretty words will not change that."

"Then let me ask you this: how did you come to be on this council, Master Yngví?"

Yngví puffed out his chest again. "The king appointed me."

_Because he needed your trade connections badly enough to put up with you_ , you thought. _And now he doesn't._

"Would you say his judgment was sound when he did that?"

"Of course! What are you implying?"

"Well, the king selected me to be his queen. Either his judgment is consistently impaired, in which case all of his decisions should be questioned equally and you would have to relinquish your position on the council… _Or_ it is consistently sound, in which case his choice of queen should not be subject to scrutiny. I'm afraid you can't pick and choose."

It took Yngví a moment to regroup. When he did, he gave you an insulting once-over. "There are certain… considerations that might have interfered with his judgment in your case which were not present in mine." he muttered.

"I don't know about that, Master Yngví. You are a fine figure of a dwarf. Very handsome."

Loud guffaws followed that pronouncement. Thorin waved everyone into silence, but not before Yngví had turned as red as a beet.

You made your eyes widen. "Though I'm flattered you value my looks that highly. Truly. Just to be clear, though — did you just imply that your king, a renowned warrior in his prime, is being controlled by his, uh, nether _parts_?"

"His dick," Dwalin clarified, smirking. "You can say dick, Y/N."

"Thank you, Dwalin," Thorin said dryly.

Yngví squirmed a little in his seat. "I said no such thing…" he muttered.

"It was implied, I think," you murmured. You looked around the table, making sure to meet each gaze in turn. "Wasn't it?"

The councilmen nodded. A certain glee had spread around the table. Yngví was not well-liked. A rush of excitement mingled with your underlying feeling of pure terror. You were on uncharted ground, making it up as you went. It had gone okay so far, but your luck could turn at any time.

Yngví sank deeper into his seat and glowered at you.

"As entertaining as all this is, I would like to voice another concern," said a dwarf who could have been Balin's twin. He nodded at you. "Geír, at your service."

"Glad to make your acquaintance." you murmured.

"My concern is this," said Geir, looking straight at Thorin. "If the lady is indeed such an asset to the throne, how come she spent the first months of her stay in decrepit lodgings, living from hand to mouth, bungling all attempts at finding work? It does not inspire confidence."

When Bofur had told you that every move of yours would reflect on Thorin, you had thought idly about how you would explain those first few months of isolation. You hadn't understood the level of scrutiny that entailed, then. You were beginning to and it was scary as hell.

But at least you had an answer prepared. It was a complete lie. The question was whether you could deliver it convincingly.

You turned to look at Thorin. "If I may answer?"

Thorin opened his hand in invitation and you shifted to look at Geír. The dwarf had the look of a hard-ass, rigid in his beliefs but fundamentally honest. You couldn't tell him the truth, but you would make sure to sound as honest as possible.

You looked him directly in the eyes as you spoke, making sure to look earnest and as innocent as possible.

"It was my wish to experience for myself the kind of life that awaits the less fortunate who come to the mountain without friends or resources. The king was kind enough to grant it." You smiled at Yngví. "I find that those in exalted positions often forget that not everyone shares in their fortune. Sometimes they grow disdainful of the less fortunate, as if poverty and hardship were a well-deserved punishment rather than an accident of fate. I do not want to become that person so I made sure to create an experience I would not quickly forget."

Geír inclined his head towards you. "I am satisfied with this answer."

You could not look around to gauge other reactions, but you stole a glance at Thorin. There was that faint softness in his eyes again, a spark of admiration that warmed your heart and calmed you slightly.

"The issue of the betrothal gift remains," Yngví said severely. "Your superior knowledge cannot be considered a gift, I'm afraid; especially since we only have your word for its existence."

"When are ya goin' to put an end to this farce, Thorin?" Dwalin murmured.

Thorin shook his head slightly.

Yngví and his fucking betrothal gift.

You were sure Thorin would help you if you made one up, but you didn't want him to. If it really was tradition you wanted to give him something of yours, something that told him how much he meant to you, how integral he was to your life.

Someone kicked you under the table. You looked up to see Kili gesturing silently at youand pointing with his chin towards the door. No. Up, and to the south, where the forges were…

Realization sparked.

The greenhouse.

You grinned at Kili, elated, and turned to Yngví with a new enthusiasm.

"Let me begin by saying that a betrothal gift is being prepared." You lifted your chin. "I am here to serve the people of Erebor. The gift is meant for them as much as it is for the king. Due to its scale it is not yet ready. It will be unveiled in due time — six weeks is my rough estimate."

"And we are supposed to take your word that such an item exists?" Yngví cried. "We are dwarves; we require more tangible proof than that!"

You narrowed your eyes. "Prince Kili and Bofur are in my confidence if you require further reassurance."

"Be that as it may—" he began. You jumped to your feet, thoroughly fed up.

"I think that is quite enough, Master Yngví! I have been polite even though you have repeatedly called me a liar and insulted your king. I might not be a fighter, but I _have_ bled for this mountain while you were sitting at home, cozy and safe. Where were you when Thorin called for dwarves to join him on his quest? You were certainly quick enough to descend on Erebor once it was secured."

He sputtered. "My person is not the issue here! Tradition demands a gift of great value! There must be a ceremony—"

You pressed both hands on the table and leaned forward. "And I will provide one! In front of the whole mountain if I have to! But my gift is meant as a surprise for my future husband and I will _not_ have it spoiled because you wish to play power games."

He pushed his chair back with a screech and stood up. His face was purple. "I have never been so insulted in all my life!"

You straightened. "I only say what everyone else thinks, Master Yngví. Like yourself, I am merely a conduit for public opinion."

Several councilmen allowed themselves thin, satisfied smiles.

"That will be all for today," Thorin said into the charged silence.

Yngví stormed out with the barest of nods in Thorin's direction. Dwalin's flinty gaze tracked him to the door and lingered. The remaining council members followed at a more sedate pace; one or two stopped for a quick chat with Balin.

You held yourself stiffly until they had all left. Once the door had closed behind the last of them you dropped into your chair like a puppet with its strings cut.

You took a deep, shuddering breath, then another. You felt light and tingling all over, as if you were made entirely of bees.

"… alright?" Kili's voice was a faint hum in the background. It did not penetrate.

You stared at your hands, trying not to puke. They were shaking.

"Are you well?"

A large, warm hand covered your icy cold ones.

_Thorin_.

Another broad hand settled on your shoulder. "I don't mind telling you, lass —if you weren't taken I'd kiss you right now."

Dwalin.

"I'd probably let you," you confessed. "I could use a kiss."

Your chair was dragged backwards and then Thorin was pulling you to your feet and taking your face between his palms. He kissed you as if you were alone, as if you were the only two people in the world. He kissed you deeply, thoroughly; as if there was nothing more important than relearning the taste and texture of your mouth.

When he finally pulled back you chased his lips for a soft peck, then another. It took a great effort to pull back enough to speak.

You offered him a tremulous smile. "What happened to observing the council at my leisure?"

Thorin kissed your forehead. "You could have. I was prepared to step in eventually."

"I'm sorry. Did I mess up very badly? I wasn't sure if you still needed him or not but he's such a pompous, _hateful_ ass…"

Thorin trailed his fingers through your hair. "You were magnificent."

"I'm sorry I lost my temper in the end."

"It does not matter. Yngví has been a problem for a while. You goaded him nicely into losing his calm." That last was said with a savage satisfaction.

"And into losing face," said Bofur happily. "Mahal, how I relished that!"

Balin patted your hand. "That you did, lass. It was very neatly done."

You nodded your thanks, your eyes on Thorin. "I was terrified I would embarrass you."

"As I keep telling you, you couldn't." Thorin stroked your cheek. "Is there truly a betrothal gift? If it was a subterfuge, I can aid you in creating one."

You leaned against him. "You don't have to. I have something… I didn't think of it that way at first, but I suppose it was always meant for you, so that's fine."

Realization sparked in Thorin's eyes. "Ah…. The project you are guarding so fiercely?"

You nodded. "Which reminds me — Kili, should we place guards around it? I'm afraid it might be sabotaged otherwise."

"I agree. I will take care of it."

You swallowed back fear. If the greenhouse didn't work as expected, your triumph might still turn sour. On the other hand, there was no reason why it _wouldn't_ work. The planning had been very thorough.

"Don't fret," Kili said. "I can barely wait to see their faces when we unveil it. Yngví will have to eat his words. You'll see."

                                                                                                     


* * *

 

Six weeks passed in a blur. Before you knew it, you were standing at Thorin's side in front of an expectant crowd.

You wished you could touch the necklace around your throat for reassurance. You couldn't, of course. You could not show any insecurity or weakness.

Its heavy weight was comforting anyway, as was Thorin's silent presence at your side.

A panel moved in the ceiling and shaft of sunlight fell on you, turning the outline of your body to fire and making the diamonds on your dress flash and sparkle.

A murmur went through the crowd.

It had taken days of preparation to make sure the light would hit you in this exact way at this exact point in time. The angle was precisely calculated so that the light would not blind you, but would be strong enough to penetrate the layers of your ivory dress in a way that made you look innocent and ethereal.

Thorin took your hand.

You gave a slight nod.

At your signal, hidden panels in the ceiling slid aside, allowing sunlight to spill into the darkened portion of the cavern. Workers began turning a series of hidden cranks and a massive array of mirrors descended from the ceiling, pivoting on their bearings to catch the sunlight.

The greenhouse, previously shrouded in shadow, suddenly blazed with white fire.

The crowd gasped.

_Showtime_.

The mirrors shifted slightly. The glass walls of the greenhouse turned translucent, allowing a look at the neat rows of greenery inside, broken up by colorful patches where the first peppers and tomatoes were starting to come in.

Your voice rang across the cavern, high and clear despite your stage fright. You'd practiced this part until you were sick of it. "This is my betrothal gift to the king and the people of Erebor: the first greenhouse in Middle Earth. Already we can grow various kinds of plants and root vegetables right inside the mountain, and we believe the template can be expanded to fruit-bearing trees and other plants. For the first time in its history, Erebor will become self-sufficient."

The roar that broke out was so far removed from what you expected that you took a step back in terror. It took you a moment to recognize it as a cheer, and when you did you could not help the tears that welled in your eyes.

When you turned to look at Thorin, his triumphant smile eclipsed the roar of the crowd, the commotion as people rushed forward to get a better look.

You squeezed his hand.

"You did all this for me?" he murmured.

"Yes. It's all been for you. For myself too, partly… but mostly you." You suppressed a watery giggle. "It might have escaped your attention, but I'm quite ridiculously in love with you."

Thorin pulled you into his arms. "You are a marvel. I could not have chosen a better queen for myself or my people."

"I hope you still think that in fifty years."

He smiled. "In case it has escaped your attention, let me say it again: I adore you."

You stretched and threaded your hands through his hair, careful of the crown. "It's the first time you've said it."

He bent his head for a soft kiss. "Surely not."

"It is. I would have remembered."

"It's a wonder you're still here, then," he murmured against your mouth. "Allow me to correct that oversight: I am spellbound. Entranced. Utterly besotted. I can barely wait to see you become queen. I am certain you will take to it with the same grace you have displayed so far. You continue to exceed my wildest expectations."

"I am terrified." 

"And yet you persevere." He slid his arms around your waist and pulled you closer, uncaring of your audience. "I could not be more proud." He grinned at you. "Or more smitten."

You hid your face against his chest, full to overflowing with emotion. You would never learn to like crowds, but right now it didn't matter.

You were home.

* * *

There was a feast.

There was always a feast.

It was held in the main banquet hall, which seated the entirety of Erebor — or so it felt like — even though in truth it was only the chosen representatives of all factions in the city and their entourages.

After several hours of feasting and drinking, and more lewd toasts than you could shake a stick at — May your sword be ever ready? Who _said_ that kind of thing with a straight face? — quite a few people were lying under tables, or face down in their platters.

The din had died down to a nearly pleasant hum.

You half-dozed in Thorin's embrace as the company debated civic freedoms around you. Particularly as they pertained to uppity councilmen.

Bombur was eating his way methodically through the offerings and nodding now and then.

"I don't hold with freedom," said Dwalin. "Too much freedom allows scum to rise to the top."

"As we recently witnessed." Balin murmured. "You will have to do something about Yngví soon, Thorin."

Thorin nuzzled your hair. "Have no fear, Balin. I shall."

You craned your neck for a discreet look around. If it was not done for a king to show such affection in public, at least nobody was sober enough to witness it. You sank back against Thorin's chest.

Bofur grinned. "Speaking of ill-advised freedoms, did you know that the Stonefoots allow their young to pick their own names once they're old enough?"

"Don't hold with that," Dori grumbled unsurprisingly.

You tried to picture the names that might emerge due to such an unwise law and shuddered.

Fili leaned towards you, concerned. "Y/N?"

"Oh, it's nothing. They must wait until they're older to pick a name though, right?"

"No, they are allowed to choose in infancy, if they so desire."

You shuddered again.

"What is it?"

"I just remembered something." you said airily.

"Something interesting, I'd wager!" said Kili. "Care to share?"

"It's not that interesting." Your eyes grew unfocused as you recalled your childhood. "I used to hate my name when I was little."

Fili raised his eyebrows. "Why? It's such a pretty name."

"It's a common name where I come from. I wanted to be different. Special. So when I was seven, I started signing all my pictures as—"

"… Yes?"

"Athenastarlightunicorn," you whispered. Thorin smirked into your hair.

Glóin leaned forward. "What was that?"

"Huh?" bellowed Óin.

"Can you say it again? I didn't catch it."

You turned your head into Thorin's chest. "Athena Starlight Unicorn."

Óin gave his hearing aid a good smack then held it up to his ear again. " _Speak up lass! Can't hear a thing!_ "

"ATHENA STARLIGHT UNICORN!" bellowed Dwalin.

"Oh, that's nice," sighed Ori. "I wish I had a name like that."

Dori rolled his eyes. "Mahal save us."

Thorin was rubbing at his lips again. You elbowed him and he grinned at you.

Nori just sniggered openly. Nori was an ass.

"Well," said Bofur thoughtfully, "You would have made a proper Stonefoot, at least. There's a lot of Bloodaxes and Skullcrushers among them."

"I knew an Opal Skullsplitter once…" sighed Balin. "Lovely lass, if a bit unbalanced."

"There are a lot of Bloodmaces in the mountain now." said Glóin. "Gimli is fast friends with a Grimtooth Bloodmace. Nice lad. Salt of the earth."

"Maces are daft weapons." grumbled Dwalin. "Give me a good axe over a mace any day. And what kind of a name is Grimtooth?"

You snuggled closer to Thorin as you let their chatter wash over you, familiar and calming.

"Sleepy?" he whispered in your ear.

You hid a yawn behind your hand. "A little." The excitement of the day coupled with the lavish food had taken its toll on your poor human constitution.

"If you wish, we can leave soon."

You shifted so you could look up at him. "Can the king leave his own celebration before the guests?"

"The king can do anything he pleases. Especially when his new betrothed is such a fetching beauty. His subjects will understand."

"I'm not sure what I think about the whole of Erebor imagining us… You know."

He chuckled. "They will do so regardless. I am certain you are fuelling a good number of fantasies as we speak. You are so pretty and soft."

You blushed fiercely. "Thorin!" And then, more quietly, "I'm sure you inspire quite a few fantasies yourself, your Majesty."

"Antagonizing your intended already?" Dwalin drawled. "Well that didn't take long."

"I was merely complimenting her beauty," Thorin said smoothly. "Not that it's any of your business."

"Try not to give her apoplexy, will you? She looks ready to drop."

"It's fine, Dwalin. Thorin's compliments are just a little… direct sometimes."

"I know. I told him you are a bit of a delicate flower, but he won't listen."

"Who's a delicate flower?" Kili interjected curiously.

Dwalin pointed at you. "Her."

Kili frowned. "Her? Delicate? Are you drunk?"

That Kili. He had your number, sure enough.

"I'm not delicate, I'm just tired." you said. "Thorin can be as inappropriate as he wants. I can take it."

"You can?" Thorin murmured against the nape of your neck. His breath stirred the fine hairs there, making you shiver. "I will be sure to put that to the test tonight, then."

Despite yourself you pictured him murmuring dark, depraved things in your ear as he took you; you shivered again, confused and very turned on.

"I think we should go home now," you whispered, so low that only Thorin could hear.

"Home," he agreed, and stood up, lifting you in his arms as he went.

"Leaving us already?" Dwalin drawled.

"My intended is tired," Thorin said. "And since she's such a delicate flower…" here both Kili and Fili choked on their drinks, "I'll make sure she gets plenty of rest." He nodded at everyone. "Enjoy yourselves."

He was in the midst of negotiating a floor full of drunken dwarves when a loud voice echoed from the royal table.

"Is he off to consummate it then?" bellowed Óin.

"Are you daft? What do you think they've been doing every day for weeks?"

"That's as may be, but betrothal night is different!"

"Sure. He's more drunk, for one!"

"Well now, if she's drunk as well it might turn out to be a very interesting night indeed!" cried Glóin fondly. "My dear wife has these restraints—"

You slid your arms around Thorin's neck in a stranglehold. "Walk faster!" you hissed.

Thorin just laughed.

                                                                                                     


* * *

 

At the entrance to the royal wing, Thorin set you on your feet. Adopting an earnest expression, he took your hand in both of his and pressed it to his chest.

"I merely wanted to let you know…" he began, looking deeply into your eyes.

You swooned a little. "Yes?"

"… that you will always be my little starlight unicorn."

It took you a second before his words computed, and then you tugged your hand from his grasp and slapped his arm. "Thorin!"

He laughed and easily evaded your second blow.

"Oh, wait until I catch you!" you promised wrathfully and you were off down the hallway like a pair of children.

Life was good.


End file.
